Chapter 20 #2
“Excellent,” he said in that too-calm, commanding voice. “Legs together now, fuckslave. All the way.”
This position was wrong. It felt like punishment. With my thighs locked together, how was I possibly going to open enough to take him?
Also, I knew I was going to fight him, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get any leverage. I desperately wished I’d be able to just stay still and take it, but I knew it wasn’t likely.
Within seconds, he was on the mattress, then his muscled legs were surrounding mine, pinning my legs together even tighter.
One big hand settled between my shoulder blades, pressing me flat.
The other gripped the base of the plug, yanked it out of me, and my hole clenched and spasmed around the sudden emptiness while my screams echoed off the walls.
And then the head of his cock was inside me, pressing. Pushing. Driving.
There was no careful pressure, no slow working in. He drove into me with his weight behind it, pressing me into the mattress. Then again, vicious. Violent.
I thrashed under him and shrieked nonstop, unable to do anything else with my muscles locked, my hole burning, and every instinct screaming that it was too much, that I couldn’t possibly take it — but he didn’t stop.
He kept pushing, relentlessly forcing the fat, textured shaft into me inch by brutal inch while I panicked and fought him with everything I had, but he easily held me down, pinned to the mattress while he pried my asshole open with his monstrous dick.
“That’s it. Fight me, bitch. No choice but to take it, slave. This is what you are, this is why you fucking obey.”
He slammed in three more times before I felt the rough part of his cock.
The corded ridges scraped and dragged against the tender, overstretched ring of muscle, and then rasped against the inside of my hole on the way out.
Scraped it all over again on the way back in.
Every stroke felt like sandpaper, and he drove harder and harder, using his weight and power to force his way in while I screamed and begged, “Please stop! I can’t take it!
Oh, God! You’ll split me open, I can’t! Please stop! Please!”
My hands scrabbled uselessly against the sheet, arms no longer stretched out to the side.
I tried to push up, tried to reach back.
I clawed at the side of his body, behind me, and he grabbed my wrists, twisted my arms behind my back, and pinned them there with one hand while he kept jackhammering his way into my tortured hole.
I couldn’t get leverage. I couldn’t open my legs. I couldn’t do anything but futilely fight him while he forced me open and drove into me, knowing escape was impossible and there was no way to stop him while he wrenched my hole wider and wider with every thrust.
The burn turned white-hot, and I thrashed under him, trying to buck him off, but it was hopeless. My hole had no choice but to yield, and my broken, desperate shrieks filled the room.
“Please have mercy! I’ll behave! I’ll obey!”
“Of course you will, cunt. You’ll also hurt for me while I remind you why you’ll fucking obey.”
I could feel every sudden flare of girth as he forced himself deeper.
“Take it, cunt.” His voice was deep and commanding over the sound of my sobbing. “Tell me you need this. Tell me how important this is to who we are.”
I shook my head and begged again, “Please stop! I can’t take it! Motherfucking Red!”
“Oh no, cunt. You gave up your right to that word.” He pulled nearly all the way out and slammed in harder. “Tell me how much you motherfucking need this, slave.”
“Please have mercy! Sir!”
He pumped hard, three times.
“Have you ever known me to show mercy during high-protocol, cunt? Do you really expect me to now?”
He found a rhythm, fucking me deep, hard, and faster than I could handle while I sobbed and cried beneath him, fighting him with everything I could muster.
“Oh yeah, my little weeping fucktoy. That’s what we want.”
He fucked me with deep, brutal strokes that dragged every textured ridge back and forth against the tight ring of muscle.
There was no angle that lessened it, no way to adjust. The wedge, and the way he pinned my legs between his kept me exactly where he wanted me.
Every thrust forced more broken noises out of me.
Tears streamed from my eyes and into the sheet under me.
My hole felt like it was being split open on every stroke, raw and burning and impossibly full.
I’d given up the right to make it stop. I was trapped under him with no way out while he used me and hurt me. I could scream and sob and beg until my voice gave out, but I was in this without reprieve until the hour was up or he decided he was finished.
He fucked me like he meant for me to feel it for days, driving into me with powerful, savage thrusts that claimed every inch of me over and over.
The endless pain never lessened, it grew sharper and deeper, layering fresh agony on top of what was already there while my muscles clenched and contracted around the thick intrusion it couldn’t expel.
I lost track of time, of reality. There was only the stretch, the burn, the wet sound of him thrusting into me, and the growly, satisfied grunts he made while he used my ass exactly the way he’d promised.
I couldn’t stop begging, but my voice was quieter now. Broken. “Please have mercy, please, it hurts so bad… I can’t… I can’t.”
“Doesn’t matter if you think you can or not, slave. You are.”
I’m pretty sure he used the entire hour, and by the time he started losing his rhythm, there was no fight left in me. The pain was deeper and more pervasive than it’d been at the start, but you can only fight at that level for so long, and my will was long gone. Completely fucked out of me.
I was well and truly broken. Conquered.
I’ve heard people throw around the word ruined, but that was me in that moment – a ruined, wrecked hole.
Open, raw, twitching, and so thoroughly used, I wasn’t sure where I ended and the pain began.
He drove into me with vicious intent, grinding his textured cock into me even as he came, forcing me a little more open.
The sudden heat of him deep inside only made me sob harder.
He stayed buried in me for a long moment afterward, his breathing rough, one hand still pressing me into the mattress.
I lay there under him, arms back out to my side but not straight, legs still pinned, hole stretched obscenely around his cock, and understood exactly why he’d done this.
It was about more than power and control. It was a brutal, visceral lesson in the structure he’d created. Undeniable proof he fully owned me.
He’d had me voluntarily relinquish my safeword, and then he’d taunted me when I tried to use it. How many men would’ve stopped, even after making me give it up?
Most of them.
And I respected the fuck out of him for holding strong, even as my body shook from the sobs racking my body.
And so, I said what he’d wanted from me earlier, or at least some version of it.
“It wasn’t just me who needed it, Sir,” I managed to get out, voice barely more than a whisper. “We needed it. An affirmation of what we are to each other.”
He kissed my shoulder. “What a good little cumhole. Stay put, I need to check you over.”
And why did that nickname make me feel special? Shit, I was way too far into subspace to be expected to think, so I stayed put while he got up, stepped away, and quickly returned.
“Spread your legs, fuckslave.”
I did, and he made what might’ve been a sympathetic sound if it hadn’t carried the icy edge of ownership.
“Fuck. That probably hurts like a motherfucking bitch. This salve is going to feel cold.”
My whines and noises sounded pathetic even to me while he worked salve all around and then inside my raw hole. His hands were neither gentle nor rough, but methodical and… thorough.
I have only fragmented, foggy memories after that: him carrying me to his bedroom, sitting me on the toilet and telling me to pee, drying me with tissue when I finished, then carrying me to bed.
Or, I think that’s what happened. I slept through the night, and woke in his arms the next morning without the waist cincher.