Chapter 14
Storm
Magnum came in through the back door while I was nearly done frying the meat. His shirt was off, skin damp with sweat, and the sight of him made my stomach flip even before he spoke.
“Smells good,” he said, moving in behind me. “I need a shower and I’ll be right back.” He kissed the side of my neck, and he was gone.
I’d grabbed a fast one after my workout, but I wouldn’t have actually minded sweaty, gross sex with this man.
When he returned, I was assembling the enchiladas, and he told me, “Go ahead and get them plated, and I’ll put it everything in the oven on warm.”
I did as he said, hyper-aware of him moving around the kitchen, setting the table, putting ingredients back in the fridge, wiping around the stove while it was still warm.
When everything was in the oven, he popped me on the ass and said, “Stop in your bedroom to get rid of the shirt, and then go to the dungeon, slave.”
I made my way upstairs, my heart beating faster with every step.
Once in the dungeon, he nodded toward the chin-up bar. “Up, slave.”
I jumped and grabbed it, my insides fluttering with the knowledge of what was coming. My arms stretched overhead and my spine elongated. I thought of horses blowing themselves up so the saddle wouldn’t be as tight, and realized there was no way to do that when I hung from my arms.
I tried to steady my breathing while he moved behind me and laced me back into the tall, steel-boned cincher.
He worked slowly, methodically, pulling the laces tighter in small increments.
I focused on trying to pull air into my lungs while my waist was compressed and my ribs restricted, forcing my back into more of an arch.
By the time he tied it off, every breath was shallower than the last.
“Lift and bend your legs.”
His voice wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t kind, either. He expected to be obeyed, and I wondered what would happen if I didn’t, but not enough to try it and see.
Seconds later, the plug was pressed against my hole, and he pushed. I was still sore from having to wear it for so long that morning, and I couldn’t stop the whine that slipped out from the stretch and burn.
“Please,” I gasped, my fingers tightening on the bar. “It’s too much right now. Please, just… give me a minute, Sir.”
He kept pressing, slow and relentless.
“Please have mercy! It’s too much, Sir!”
“Oh yeah,” he said, voice low. “Beg me like a good little cunt. Love to hear you begging for mercy I have no intentions of bestowing.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Fresh waves of heat flooded between my legs even as the plug stretched me wider and wider. I whimpered again, louder this time, and he just kept working it in with that same calm, unhurried pressure until my body finally gave way and it sank home.
I was shaking by the time he stepped away, and then seconds later, he was locking the damned heels onto my feet again. Fuck. My calves and feet still burned from the morning.
“Permission to release, slave.”
I let go and landed on my toes, prepared for it better than I’d been the first time.
“Who am I, slave?”
“Sir. You’re my Sir.”
A nod, and then, “On your knees, little fuckdoll.”
My legs were unsteady, but I went to them as quickly as I could without hurting myself. He stepped in front of me, dropped his shorts, and wrapped one hand around the back of my neck.
“Open your cunt mouth and get to work. Hands behind your back.”
He was already hard — and grotesque. Not gross, just…
monstrous. So obscenely oversized it made my stomach flip.
The huge misshapen head alone was intimidating, and what came behind was terrifying.
I had no idea how I was going to please him, but I leaned forward and dragged my tongue up the underside of his cock, tasting nothing but clean skin.
He let me lick him for a while, long, slow strokes from the thick base to the blunt head, before he pressed himself into my mouth.
I had to open wide to take him in. Just the head stretched my jaw wide enough to ache.
My lips were taut around the flare of him, but I managed to suck, careful of my teeth.
I worked my tongue against the underside and felt him swell even harder in my mouth.
Spit slipped down my chin but I couldn’t wipe it.
I wished I could work the base with my hands, but he clearly didn’t want that, so I kept my hands where he’d ordered.
And he held me firmly around the base of my skull, his huge hand holding me exactly where he wanted me, but he never pushed deeper. He simply stood there and let me struggle to please him — sucking, licking, drooling around the thick head while my jaw burned and my eyes watered.
I don’t know how long I was on my knees, maybe five minutes, when he stepped back, tucked himself into his shorts, and casually said, “Back downstairs. C’mon.”
Halfway down the steps, he said, “Working out always pumps testosterone through my system. Makes me want to fuck something.” He glanced back at me with a small, dark smile.
“We need to eat first. And your food’ll need time to settle, but I’m looking forward to hearing you scream when I fuck you with that big ol’ plug in your ass. ”
I froze on the stairs.
The thought of him inside me while I was already stretched and aching around the plug made my knees go weak. Everything would be tighter. Everything would hurt more.
He chuckled at whatever he saw on my face and kept walking.
By the time I reached the kitchen, he already had the food out of the oven and was carrying the plates to the table.
“Pour the drinks,” he said without looking at me. “Then sit.”
I moved on autopilot, my hands unsteady as I filled our glasses.
When I finally lowered myself onto the chair, the thick plug shifted hard inside me, a sharp stab that forced a too-loud gasp out of me before I could stop it.
I breathed in and kept my eyes on the table, pulse hammering, disconcertingly aware of how full and owned I still was.
We’d gone from zero to a thousand in a matter of hours, and I wasn’t complaining, but fuck, I was… discombobulated. Out of sorts. I wanted this, but it was both new and overwhelming.
He sat across from me like nothing was unusual, picked up his fork, and started eating.
I stared at my plate, heart pounding, sore and throbbing, and quietly terrified of what came next, but also relieved he hadn’t stopped when I’d begged, which I realize is fucked up.
“Oh, wow, this is good,” he said. “Did you use venison?”
“I did, Sir. There was some thawed, and you said I could use anything in the fridge.”
“I did, but I expected you’d use the beef.”
I shrugged but didn’t answer, since he hadn’t asked a question.
After a few seconds, he said, “You may speak, slave.”
“The spices cover up the wild taste of the venison, Sir. You seem to like it more, and you have more of it. I don’t mind it like this, but I’m not a fan of it by itself. Sir.”
He nodded. “For now, it’s your choice unless I give instructions.
” He tilted his head. “Normally, you don’t speak unless asked a question during high protocol, but I’d like a conversation with you over our meal, so that rule is relaxed while we sit at the table this evening, but be cautious about your tone. ”
I nodded, realized he wanted an answer, and said, “Thank you, Sir.”
A tiny nod, and then, “A lot of Doms have rules about you not fighting them, but I like it when you try to escape, when it hurts so bad you desperately want to get away. I love to hear you beg for relief. I do own wrist and ankle cuffs, but they’re rarely used.
It’s not as much fun if you’re tied down.
I’d much rather hold you there with my hands, force you to take what I give you. ”
He said it so casually, sitting there like the king of his castle while I sat naked, plugged, barely able to breathe. And okay, the last bit is an overstatement, but fuck, I hated the cincher.
And yet, knowing it was his version of a collar was fucking hot.
And maybe hate is too strong of a word, but dislike wasn’t strong enough in that moment.
“Good to know, Sir.” I met his gaze. “Seriously, I’m not really sure what to say to that. Thanks for the insight into you, I do appreciate it, but…” I shook my head. “This is all backward, and I know you’re aware. I’ll deal with it, I am dealing with it, but it’s going against the norms.”
He lifted a brow, and I quickly added, “Sir.”
“How is it going against the norms?”
“Boundaries should be negotiated outside of power exchange, when we’re equals, so I hand power over to you.
This is… it’s you taking the power instead of me giving it, but…
” I considered my words. “I have a safeword, it’s still consensual because I can stop it, but…
” I shrugged. “You said it yourself — this isn’t a negotiation.
It’s you dictating the rules and boundaries, and that’s all kind of wrong, but I’m not stopping it. ”
He grinned. “Which means it’s working for you, so we’re good, since it’s absolutely working for me. Next question: Have you ever been in a relationship with regularly scheduled maintenance?”
I nodded. “I have, Sir. He started with it every other week, but it was too much, so we went to monthly.” I shrugged. “We only lasted around six months, so it isn’t like I have tons of experience with it.”
“Do you prefer we start it sooner, or later? What do you need?”
I stared at him, then took a bite while I figured out how to answer. I swallowed and drank some tea, and finally told him, “I think my answer is always going to be later, since I know what’s going to happen. I don’t intend to test you and force your hand, if that’s what you’re asking, Sir.”
“If that changes, you should tell me,” he said. “I’m inclined to wait five to ten days before our first maintenance session, but if you need it sooner, I expect you to let me know. If you can’t bring yourself to tell me, write a note and leave it on the edge of the kitchen island.”