Chapter 16 #2
And in truth, ignoring me was more proof of it. I’d never be happy with an owner whose sole purpose was to please me. Slavery works the other way around, by definition.
When he finished, he stood and walked out without a word or a backward glance.
I cleaned the kitchen on autopilot, moving carefully in the heels, trying not to make the plug shift even more than it did with normal movement.
According to the calendar, today was baseboards and vents.
He came back while I was wiping down the counters, nearly finished, and watched me until I put everything away.
He showed me the cleaning supplies in the pantry, and then walked me through the first two rooms, pointing out exactly what he wanted — every vent cover removed, cleaned, and replaced. Baseboards wiped down. Also, every doorframe and light switch, along with the walls around them when necessary.
It was tedious work, but at least it was only once a month.
I was putting the supplies back in the pantry when his hand grabbed my ear. He didn’t yank hard, just enough to make me follow as he walked me into the mudroom. He stopped in front of a light switch and held my face two inches from a faint smudge I’d missed.
My stomach dropped.
I dropped to my knees without thinking, heart suddenly racing. I didn’t know what he wanted from me — an apology, an explanation, or should I beg forgiveness? I wasn’t allowed to speak, so my brain short-circuited.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice calm. “Clean it, cunt.”
I scrambled up so fast I nearly twisted an ankle in the heels, and ran as fast as I dared to the pantry for a rag and spray.
My hands were shaking while I wiped the smudge away.
I expected him to punish me. I expected something sharp and immediate.
Instead he just watched, quiet, until I finished, and then followed to watch me put the supplies away again.
“Go to the dungeon,” he said. “Wall pose. I’ll be there shortly.”
I walked upstairs on shaky legs. The heels clicked with every step and the plug moved inside me with every shift of my hips. By the time I reached the dungeon, my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Wall pose means you face the wall, cross your arms in front of you, and put your palms against the wall, but there are variations. Arms at face height, arms as far up the wall as you can reach. Upper body slanted, upper body parallel to the floor.
I chose the version that would be the least punishing over time, because I had no idea how long ‘shortly’ might be — upper body slanted forward, arms at face height, palms flat against the wall. It still left my ass out and my back arched, but not as dramatically as some of the variations.
It felt like I was there a half hour, but it was probably half that. He didn’t speak right away, just walked to view me from different angles before his hand settled on my lower back.
“Ass out more,” he said quietly. “Back arched more. Arms higher, until your shoulders feel it.”
I adjusted, stretching until my arms were as high as I could reach in this position. My calves burned. The plug felt obscene and ten times bigger.
My cunt felt empty.
“This is how you wait for me,” he said. His voice was low.
“So I can see the plug peeking out of your tight asshole, and your red, raw cunt below it.” His fingers brushed lightly over the base of the plug, making me twitch.
“You know your cunt is destined to permanent soreness while in this house, yes? You’re smart. I’m sure you’ve figured it out.”
The words hit me like a fist to the chest, because I’d been thinking I’d get used to his size, that the constant ache would fade once I was accustomed to all the ways he’d use me.
I’d convinced myself the relentless, raw, bruised, inflamed, never-ending torment between my legs would fade into something manageable.
But standing there, stretched out and displayed exactly the way he wanted, I felt the truth of it settle over me like a weight.
His cock was too big, too textured, too fucking malformed to ever get used to.
The end part is normal cock-skin, but starting about halfway back, it’s corded and rough — right where it starts getting too big to take.
It feels like jute rope at the thickest spots, and there’s no way to get used to that.
He was right. I was never going to stop feeling him. I was going to walk around this house every single day with the memory of him inside me. Raw and throbbing and half out of my mind with it all the motherfucking time — horny every minute of every hour because of the heat and ache inside me.
My eyes burned again, and I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or come.
“Grab the overhead bar, slave.”
I pushed away from the wall, stepped under the chin-up bar, and jumped up to grab it.
He removed the shoes before he unlaced the cincher. When it finally came off, I sucked in a full, deep breath that made my head spin.
Then he reached between my legs and started working the plug out.
I sobbed the second it began to stretch me again. I couldn’t help the raw, broken sounds that tore out of me while he slowly pulled it free, and then my hole clenched and fluttered around nothing, sore and empty and oversensitive.
He walked around to my front, cradled my cheek, and swiped the single tear trailing down my cheek. He put his finger in his mouth to taste it, removed it, and finally said, “Permission to release.”
I dropped to my bare feet and stood there shaking. I wasn’t crying again, but I was swamped with so many feelings, I wasn’t far from it.
“Who am I, slave?”
“Magnum, Sir,” I whispered.
“Exactly right.” He stepped back. “Anything I need to know before we prepare for company?”
I blinked, trying to pull my thoughts together. “Company?”
“Mad Dog, Squatch, Skippy, Gears, Frost, Dementor, and his ol’ lady. She works for Drake Security. Her partner might come too, but I’m not sure what’s going on there yet.”
My brain finally caught up. “We’re working out a game plan?”
He nodded. “Skippy has some decent ideas, and Mad Dog is deciding whether to approve them. You should shower and get dressed.” I glanced at the clock. “You have about forty-five minutes.”
I swallowed hard, still raw from everything that’d just happened. The idea of sitting in a room with that many bikers while I was still physically aching and emotionally scraped raw made my stomach flip. But I only nodded.
“Yes, Sir.”