CHAPTER THIRTY TWO #3
He hovers over me, eyes narrowed, as though I’m a tiny creature pinned beneath his gaze. My legs tremble in their silk bindings; my thighs glisten with need. The glass plug inside me thrums like a heartbeat, reminding me how desperately I’m being denied.
He lowers his voice until it’s a purr. “New rule.”
My chest tightens.
Gentle—so impossibly gentle—he trails two fingers along my slit, barely brushing my wetness, and it feels like ice. “You don’t get to cum just because you give up.”
My throat closes on my own gasp. “Wha—”
A sadistic smile curls at the corner of his mouth, dark and sharp. “You only get to cum if you win.”
He reaches down to the bullet at the base of the plug and twists it to its highest setting.
An urgent vibration pulses through me, violent and unrelenting, and I cry out, arching against the mattress.
The clamps on my nipples bite deeper with every heartbeat, and my wrists burn where the silk holds me tight.
He crawls between my spread thighs, pressing his mouth to my throat without fucking me—just covering me with the heat of his body. “You want to win, little spider?”
He doesn’t pause for my answer before pinching my clit—just once—and I shudder through every nerve ending, teetering on the cliff of release. My own scream catches in my throat; my vision swims.
“I’ll let you cum when I say,” he whispers, voice thick with promise and threat. “Only when my cock is buried so deep you forget your own name.”
He withdraws and pauses, then returns with a deliberate, sinister slowness, tongue tracing callous circles over my swollen flesh.
The plug buzzes ruthlessly; I’m soaked and shaking, drowning in the pressure he’s created.
Each flick of his tongue is an exquisite torture—never enough, never the rhythm I crave.
He rises, mouth hovering above me, and leans in: “Do you feel that hum inside you?”
My voice is a broken sob, but I nod. He presses two fingers at my entrance, curling them to hit that impossibly sweet spot that sends white-hot lines through my body. I arch, silent, desperate, trapped between longing and pain.
“Not allowed,” he growls when I murmur the wrong answer. He slaps my inner thigh, a sharp punctuation that makes me inhale a sob. “Where do you want it, Raven?”
“My…my clit,” I choke out. He shakes his head. “My…my throat.”
“Getting warmer,” he rasps, plunging his fingers deeper as I choke back tears and moan into the mattress. He pulls out, spits in his hand, and strokes himself—hard, slow—watching me quake beneath him.
His voice is a low vow. “You’re going to stay on the edge until your cunt forgets what orgasm is.”
I sob as his fingers dance just inside me, thumb brushing my clit in vicious circles. My body clenches around nothing but air and need. I’m his: skin raw, senses ablaze, utterly ruined.
He rises, cock slick in his fist, and kneels between my thighs, never letting me see relief in his eyes. He drags the head of his cock across my inner thigh, the heat so close I ache violently. “Look how swollen you are.”
I shake, unable to speak.
With a final, deliberate tease, he presses the red crown of his cock against my clit—then pulls away. I scream; he wipes a drop of pre-cum across my lips. “If you want my cum, little spider…earn it.”
He strokes harder now, faster, hand bobbing against his thigh. The sound echoes in the hush. I watch, helpless, as he builds himself toward release. Each grunt, each flick of his wrist, is a reminder that I am denied.
“Tell me how much you want to see me cum,” he commands.
“Please,” I whimper. He pinches my clit and I cry out. “Wrong answer.”
The plug thrums so violently I fear it will shatter me. He strokes his length mercilessly, breath hot against my ear: “You’ll cum when I decide. Not a moment sooner.”
Then—and I almost can’t believe it—he cums. Thick ropes of cum splatter across my chest, my throat, pearling along my jaw. He never breaks eye contact; never melts from his towering cruelty.
My eyes burn with tears, but I hold his stare. He leans down, drags his fingers through the mess, and smears it across my lips. “You didn’t flinch,” he murmurs, almost gentle.
My heart hammers. “May I…cum now?”
He smirks, dark and slow. “Not yet.”
A fresh ache blooms in my core. But I can’t look away.
Then, with a final drop of sadistic grace, he tilts his head. “If you can look me in the eye while I cum again—without begging, without tears—I’ll let you have one orgasm.”
I nod, breath stuttering.
He grips my chin, forces my gaze to his cock. He strokes harder. I watch his muscles tense, his Adam’s apple bob. The room falls silent but for flesh sliding on flesh.
He groans, eyes blazing. Then he spills again—hot and fast—covering me in worship and punishment both. My lashes flutter once; I don’t look away.
He exhales into my hair. “You didn’t break.”
I nod, trembling. “May I cum now?”
His smile is a razor. He steps back, brushing a final smear of his come across my lips. “Clean it up,” he commands, voice low and hungry.
I rise on trembling elbows, tongue sliding over his mark. Salty and sweet, sticky against my skin.
He watches, dark delight in every line of his body. Then, when I lift my head, chest heaving, he leans down and whispers in my ear: “So well…you get to start again.”
And I would crawl through hell for one more taste of that cruel, commanding mercy.
I don’t dare breathe. My limbs have turned to stone, trapped by the promise of what “start again” means: fresh pleas, fresh refusals, my slick pooling between my thighs as his words scrape along my nerves and crack my soul.
He prowls around me, silent as a shadow, each slow footfall a calculation. I’m already his, collapsed at his feet.
His voice slides through the darkness, low and greasy. “You’d let me spit in your mouth while I fuck your throat raw just to come, wouldn’t you?”
My throat goes dry. I can only nod, chest heaving, eyes wide with want and terror.
He appears behind me, cold steel grazing my spine—half crop, half promise. “Say it.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Say what you’d let me do to you just to taste release.”
I close my eyes, swallow the shame. “Anything.”
He growls, then cracks the rod against my ass. Pain flares, shooting through me like fire. I jolt forward. “Not enough,” he snarls. Another strike, sharper. I moan, wetting my thighs.
“Tell me how pathetic you are.”
My voice is a thread of wet need. “I’m pathetic.”
He snaps the rod again. “Tell me what your cunt’s for.”
“For you.”
His breath brushes my ear. “For what?”
My pulse drags my words out. “For edging. For ruining. For keeping you hard and never letting me come.”
He pauses, satisfied. One hand presses the plug deeper, stretching me open, while the other tugs my hair until my head falls forward. My throat, my mouth, my battered will lie exposed.
“Now beg. The filthiest prayer you have, and I’ll make you whimper harder than ever.”
His grip anchors me; the rod still throbs warmth against my skin. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “What does your little spider brain fantasise when you’re soaking and alone?”
Shame rushes hot, but the ache between my legs drowns it. I part trembling lips. “I want you to keep me like this—ruined, open, edged until I can’t think.”
His hand plunges between my thighs, two fingers slipping inside. I gasp at the maddening tease. Not enough. Not the edge—only the promise of it. My body trembles; I sob silently, collapsing into the torment.
“You think that was your darkest?” he hisses.
I nod, and he yanks my hair back so my spine arches. “Liar. What haven’t you told anyone? What secret sin do you hide even from yourself?”
He slaps my clit—sharp smack that steals my breath. I flinch. “No looking away,” he snaps.
“I—” My voice breaks.
He presses the rod into my thigh. “Say it. Then I’ll let you cum. Say it so I can ruin you forever.”
I choke on words, then let them spill. “I want you to fuck me until I forget who I am. Make me cry—not because it hurts, but because I love it too much to stop.”
A guttural groan rumbles through him as his fingers deepen inside, curling just so. My skin shivers, slick and alive. “Used,” I gasp. “Like a toy you don’t clean, don’t hide—just pull out whenever and fuck till you’re empty.”
He growls approval, hand picking up pace, driving me to the brink. I shudder, desperate, but still too broken to come. He withdraws, and I crash against nothing. A scream tears out of me.
“You said you’d let me cum if you spoke the truth.” He inches closer, lips grazing mine. “Now I want to hear it every night.”
He clips the leash on my collar and drags me down the hall—bareback, quaking, soaked. My legs quake but I follow, because resistance would be madness. We pass closed doors, mirrors, until he stops at one I’ve never seen open.
His boot splinters the wood. Leather, wax, resin, cold stone assault my senses.
The single yellow bulb above flickers like a dying eye, illuminating matte black walls.
At the centre stands a metal table strapped with shackles; an array of instruments gleams on a silver tray.
Beside it, in a glass terrarium, a spider so black with splashes of red it swallows light watches us.
I freeze. “Damien—”
“Shhh.” He pushes me onto the table—wrist and ankle cuffs snap shut. My thighs spread painfully wide. I’m pinned, exposed, every nerve ending raw.
His cock, rock-hard, brushes my shoulder blade. Mouth at my ear, he rasps, “You’ll beg under her gaze. You’ll scream while my come pools in you. And you won’t come until she crawls across your skin, just like the filthy web-slut you are.”