Chapter 20
Magnum
Her breath hitched, but she quickly moved to the bar, jumped up, and grabbed it.
That little catch in her breathing went straight to my cock.
Not to mention the scents she was giving off — fear, dread, and a really dark thread of arousal.
She knew what would happen on the bar. Knew the cincher and plug were coming.
I let her hang there a good fifteen seconds — arms stretched, body tense, and felt my own dark satisfaction settle in.
She got a shorter waist cincher today. Still boned, but it didn’t come down as far.
When it was on and gorgeous, I told her, “No shoes today, and this means you walk on your toes. If I see your heels touch the floor, it won’t be good for you. Permission to release.”
She landed on her toes and took a step forward, then another before she had her balance.
She’d never worn this particular plug before, so I ordered her to stretch out over the horizontal bar. So much easier to insert the plug, since I knew it was going to be a tight fit.
It took a while to work it in, and her noises had me all worked up.
After ten minutes, it wasn’t even halfway in, and she was making long strings of broken, desperate sounds.
She’d taken way more than the halfway point, many times, and I realized she was just tense, so I popped her on the ass hard enough to leave a handprint and told her, “Stop fighting me, cunt.”
She sobbed once, loud, and forced herself to relax. It went in another couple of millimeters, and I rubbed her back. “That’s it. Good girl. Relax for me. It’s going in, no matter what. Work with me, slave.”
It was at least another ten minutes before the plug finally sank home, and she was openly sobbing, tears streaming from her eyes and landing on the floor beneath her. No impact, no cock, just the stretch of the plug insertion, and damnation, I wanted to keep this woman.
But she was only mine until it was safe for her to leave. We’d have at least one more maintenance session, I figured, but I’ve also learned not to count on things a month away.
This might be the only time I got to force my cock into her ass, and I was damned well going to make the most of it.
And that meant getting her as worked up over what was to come as possible. I didn’t want to make her stand still for an hour, but I wanted her in the dungeon, where she could look over at the mattress.
I showed her how to use the leather conditioner on one of the floggers, and then showed her everything that needed it — whips, strap, tawse, leather paddle, and of course the rest of the leather floggers.
And then, before I went downstairs to cook my steak, I put the wedge on the mattress. It’s only four inches tall, so it isn’t about lifting her ass into the air. No, the center of it has a cutout, so nothing will touch her clit while I ream her ass.
She’d have nearly an hour to keep sneaking looks at the wedge on the mattress, realize her clit would get zero stimulation, and understand exactly what was coming.
She’d have to do her assigned task with thick plug stretching her asshole wide-fucking open, knowing that when I finally walked back in I was going to put her where I wanted her, yank the plug out, and force my cock into that same burning hole until she screamed, begged, cried, and fought.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
There are no clocks in the dungeon, so I had no idea how much time had passed. I figured he’d given me way more than an hour of work, so I couldn’t even use how far along I was as an indicator.
And my gaze kept going to the damned mattress with the evil little triangle wedge. It would only barely lift my hips, and it would make sure nothing touched my clit. I’d assumed he’d bend me over something, not have me nearly flat on my stomach.
It’d been a rough day. The morning fuck had been longer than usual, then all my morning chores, and damn, the enemas had been hell.
Waiting on the X had nearly made me cry, and I’d had to close my eyes and breathe to keep from turning into a weeping mess.
So now, I was actually happy for the diversion, focusing on conditioning the leather.
Still, I really wished there was a clock.
When I finally heard him coming up the stairs, I was both terrified and relieved. At this point, I wanted it to be behind me. The lead-up was killing me, and I was ready to get it over with.
“Clean up your workspace,” he told me when he stepped into the room. “I’ll put the things away you’ve conditioned, and check them while I’m at it.”
Once everything was either put away or laid out to be dealt with later, he stood before me and said, “Why are we doing this?”
I swallowed and stared at him, still standing on my toes, my asshole plugged with the biggest plug I’d ever seen, unprepared for the question, but he gave me time to sort it through in my head.
“It’s a reminder of our positions, owner and slave, Sir. Regularly scheduled maintenance cuts down on the risk of…” I had to take a breath and figure out how to say the rest. “I’m less likely to need an actual punishment when maintenance is given on a schedule, Sir.”
“Yes, it’s a reminder of why you follow rules, obey orders, and why you work so hard to please me. There’s one more thing I need from you before we get started, slave.”
He handed me another sheet of paper. “Read through it silently, understand what it says, and then meet my gaze and say it to me.”
My stomach flip-flopped, and I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a few beats when I read the words on the page.
I voluntarily relinquish my safeword for one hour while you reinforce and remind me of my place as your slave, Sir.
My first reaction was annoyance and aggravation. He’d worked me up to this for days, and now he was pulling this shit?
But then it clicked. He’d let me know from the beginning that he expected me to agree to give up my safewords for punishment once some trust was established, and I’d told him I’d given it up for specific punishments with other Doms. It wasn’t like this was out of the blue.
I wanted to ask him what would happen if I refused, but I instinctively knew that was the wrong way to go. This wasn’t weighing what I could get away with, it was deciding yes or no. Did I trust him for this, or not?
And I immediately answered myself. He enjoys hurting me, but he’s careful not to injure me. I absolutely trusted him to continue doing so.
But beyond that, if I was absolutely honest with myself, taking away my option to stop him meant I went into this with a little less anxiety.
I pride myself on only safewording for actual injury, but I can do that because the men I play with never give me intense pain outside of rare punishment or maintenance.
Magnum hurts me enough to make me cry every day when he fucks me, but this was going to be worse, and I would kick myself for years if I stopped him midway just because it hurt, when he wasn’t damaging me.
Of course, then there was the terror about not being able to stop him, but that was something else entirely, and if I stayed on it too long, I’d freeze and not be able to speak at all.
The room spun around me and the floor wobbled under my feet. It felt like he was demanding I step off a ledge and trust that he’d catch me — which I guess he actually was, and that thought made my mouth go dry while my pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The paper felt both flimsy and enormous in my hand, and I stared at it as an anchor for a moment before I drew a slow breath, met his gaze, and spoke the words that stripped away the last real protection I had.
“I voluntarily relinquish my safeword for one hour while you reinforce and remind me of my place as your slave, Sir.”
He nodded once, his eyes dark, expression grim.
“Grab the olive oil, cunt. Cabinet on the far right, middle shelf.”
I moved on unsteady legs, staying on my toes, trying to walk with grace, but I wasn’t sure I pulled it off.
My stomach had twisted into a tight, nauseating knot, and the huge plug shifted with every step — a burning reminder of both how wide open it held me, and how small the plug was compared to what he would soon force into me.
The entire walk, my traitorous clit throbbed in time with my pulse while cold fear settled in my gut.
My pristine gut, cleaned out and waiting to be violated.
When I returned, his shorts were off and he was naked, his misshapen, massive cock standing proud. Just the sight of it made my hole clench hard around the plug.
“Your asshole will only have what’s left from me plugging you, so get as much as you can on my cock.”
My hands shook as I poured oil into my palm and wrapped them around him. He was already granite hard, and I worked the slickness over the blunt, oversized ball on top, down the thick shaft, and then to the rough, abrasive base.
I poured more into my hands and did it again, trying to get it on in careful layers while my stomach somersaulted and the plug kept me stretched and aching.
He didn’t rush me, didn’t tell me to get on with it. When he was as slick as he was going to get, I took a step back, my entire body a trembling livewire, and met his gaze, waiting for instructions while my asshole clenched and spasmed around the giant plug.
“Wash your hands and then climb onto the mattress. You’re smart enough to figure out where your hips go.”
It’s possible I took longer than necessary washing my hands. Drying them. He didn’t say a word though. Just watched me with those dark patient eyes, and the silence only made my pulse louder in my ears.
I walked to the mattress on shaking legs. The huge plug shifted with every step, a thick, relentless pressure I couldn’t ignore. When I started to lower myself over the wedge he said, “Legs apart so I can make sure your clit is over the slit properly. Arms straight out to the side.”
I obeyed. Cool air touched me, and his fingers slid under me, between my legs, and brushed deliberately over my clit — then withdrew.