Chapter 21
Magnum
I woke and breathed in, scenting for damage. It didn’t seem bad, but I knew my nose wasn’t giving me the full story, because I’d focused on such a small percentage of her body.
The memory of her sobbing under me while I reamed her ass had my cock leaking against my stomach.
She’d fought me hard, legs kicking, body twisting, and every time I pinned her back down and drove deeper, those broken, panicked sounds and the thick scent of her pain-soaked agony went straight to my balls and made me want to fuck her even harder.
At the end, I’d come so hard inside her I’d seen stars.
My little slave-girl was going to be sore as hell today, and the trick would be sticking to the schedule enough not to throw her off-kilter while taking her pain levels into account.
She wasn’t hurting now, but that’d change when she woke and started moving around.
I hadn’t torn her outright, but there’d be tiny little rips and tears the eyeball can’t see.
No way around that. Also, I hadn’t gone all the way in, of course, but the rough parts of my dick had sandpapered and abraded her hole raw.
The salve I was using had some zinc, some triple antibiotic ointment, and a little anal-ease.
Not much, because she’d realize something was wrong if it didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as expected, but a little.
I worked through everything that needed to happen in the short term — salve before she pees, so there’s a barrier in case some splashes back.
No morning sex, because I’m not a monster.
Okay, maybe I can be one, because a snapping turtle in partially shifted form is kind of the definition of a monster, but I’m Storm’s owner, not her nightmare.
She’d be starving when she woke, so I figured we’d do steak and eggs with toast. Fast and filling, and she’s a big fan of the preserves I buy from the Mennonites.
And then we’d get back on schedule, and she’d have to go back into her slave-attire, which would include the small steel plug today, so she’d have to squeeze around the stem. Getting it in and out was going to hurt like fuck, but she’d survive.
The thoughts of pressing a plug into her raw, swollen asshole brought back a wave of memories, and shit, my dick throbbed so hard it felt like a second heart.
I could still hear the way she’d fought me last night — real panic, real desperation, thrashing under me while I held her down and forced my cock into her tight fucking asshole.
And oh, how she’d begged. Not the fake, pretend shit but true, broken pleading, voice cracking on every ‘please,’ and ‘I can’t’ while her body clenched and tried to buck me off of her but just managed to fuck me back in the process.
Her scent had been an absolute overload of pain and fear while I forced her open with my cock, scraping her raw.
She’d had no choice but to take it deep and hard, and I’d been relentless, her tortured hole spasming and squeezing, milking my cock.
I’d jacked off twice before I’d gone to her, to make sure I could last most of the hour before I blew, and fuck, even my thighs had been sore by the time I finished with her.
I’d loved every second of it, and she hadn’t completely hated it. In fact, without the wedge, I’m pretty sure she’d have managed a few orgasms.
But those aren’t allowed for either punishment or maintenance.
I wasn’t surprised she’d tested me on the whole safeword thing. She’d given it up, and then she’d needed proof it was real. This was a woman who’d be pissed if I’d given in. Not all women would feel that way, but Storm is all about the rules.
I’d already figured out my fucktoy is a little masochist, it just isn’t the normal kind. She isn’t a fan of impact play beyond the light stuff, but she completely gets off on both size play and abrasion of her cunt and asshole.
I’m a sadist, and I can handle a whip, but mostly, I enjoy hurting people with my dick. So yeah, we’re a fit, because nothing beats the feeling of forcing my thick cock into a tight hole that’s already fighting me, knowing the rough, rasping skin at the base will scrape her raw inside.
The way her body eventually gives up and yields, the broken little sobs she makes when I’ve stretched her as far as she’ll go, the way her holes grip me even while she’s begging me to stop. I love keeping her sore. Love knowing every step she takes today, she’ll feel me in both holes.
Most of all, I love how much she craves my dick in her cunt even though she knows damned well how much it’s going to hurt.
The truth is, I have a donut I can put on the base of my dick, so I can fuck people without hurting them terribly.
I had it custom made, so there’s only a tiny bit of the rough stuff peeking out.
They get the head of my cock, which is sizeable, sure, but then it only goes back far enough to feel the part of my dick that’s about the same thickness.
Bigger than most men, but still not quite the size of a Coke can.
It was nice though, never having to put the donut on for Storm. She’s never taken all of me, and likely never will. Eventually, if she ever comes to live with me, it’s possible that might change, but it’s fine if it doesn’t.
But I love keeping her cunt so sore and fucking her twice a day, every day, on schedule.
She cries nearly every time. Some days, she’s practically in tears before I even start.
Other days, she tries so damned hard to hold her tears back.
Occasionally, she manages it. Most often, though, within thirty seconds of feeling the rough, corded skin of the back part of my cock, those big tears start rolling and her voice cracks with the loveliest broken, desperate sounds.
And we both know I’m only going to fuck her harder once the tears fall. She doesn’t know why, but it’s because that’s when her scent goes sweetest. Pain and need merging with total surrender — a clear signal she’s mine in a way no other woman has managed. Not to this level, anyway.
And last night… wow. Taking her ass like that, rough and hard while she fought me, while her scent told me exactly where she was — frantic, writhing in pain, hysterical.
But we couldn’t do it often. I planned to put it on the schedule as monthly, but only so I’d get a chance to do it one more time.
If she were with me permanently, it’d likely be an every-other-month schedule unless she proved to need it more often, but this little slave wasn’t one to be bad just to get punished, so I didn’t foresee that.
And if I kept laying here, remembering the night before, my resolve was going to break about not fucking her this morning, so I rolled to the side, kissed her cheek, and took her left tit in my hand, rolling and massaging it.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
I came to all at once, the heat of his hand wrapped around my boob. My back was snuggled against his chest, and my gaze immediately focused on my locking shoes sitting atop the Greek column. As always, the aesthetic visual sent even more blood pulsing straight to my clit.
But then I realized I wasn’t wearing a cincher. At all. Not even the nighttime one. Did this mean we weren’t in high protocol?
His rough voice spoke nearly directly into my ear. “Consider it on. The schedule doesn’t completely go away just ‘cause you finally got your gorgeous little ass fucked.”
“Right, Sir.” I turned my head a little so he could hopefully see my smile. “Good morning.”
He yanked the sheet off me and said, “Good morning to you, too, cunt.”
He leaned away from me and sat up. “Legs up and out, slave. Grab your ankles.”
The motion fucking hurt. My thighs protested, my pussy lips spread wide and pulled at the constantly-raw flesh between, but that was nothing compared to the deep, bruised, tortured throb in my asshole.
It felt as if he’d shredded it. It hadn’t hurt at all when I first woke, but moving reminded me of just how badly he’d hurt me, and every muscle and nerve ending he’d battered and forced open last night screamed back to life.
The sharp, aching burn made my breath hitch, and a broken little whine slipped out before I could stop it. I held my ankles like he’d ordered, holding myself open for him despite the pain it brought. My hole felt swollen and tender, and every shift sent fresh sparks of pain radiating through me.
He moved between my spread thighs and looked down, his gaze dark despite the almost-grin.
“Such a pretty shade of burgundy,” he said, voice low.
“Your hole closed up nice and tight overnight, so putting the salve on is going to be a lot more fun this morning.” He met my gaze.
“For me, not so much for you, but such is the life of a slave.”
I felt the cool touch of the salve first on the outside, his fingers spreading it slowly and deliberately over the swollen, abused rim.
It felt almost good until he pressed a finger inside, working the salve deeper, and the stretch made my back arch off the bed with a sharp, involuntary gasp. My hole was so raw, even a single finger inside me felt huge.
He pulled out, got more salve, and then went back into my ass with two fingers, twisting them slowly, pressing deeper, relentlessly coating the insides of my raw, tender walls.
I held my breath to keep from yelping and squealing, but I couldn’t stop the broken sounds that slipped out of me.
My legs trembled, and I squeezed my ankles to keep from letting go and rolling away.
“Easy,” he murmured, but there was no mercy in it.
He pulled his fingers out, got more salve, and went back, working this new salve into my asshole, pressing deeper this time, until I was panting.
The burn flared hot and sharp, but my pussy clenched and opened while he worked — how humiliating, for him to see how much I was turned on even while he tended to the damage he’d done to my asshole.