Chapter 23
Storm
I spent an hour soaking in the tub when we finished our research, and just closed my eyes and let the Epsom salts and vinegar do their jobs.
And then I was back upstairs in the dungeon, submitting to the cincher, the shoes, and the damned plug all over again.
We sat on the screened-in porch once it was dark outside, with both the ceiling fan and another huge floor model blowing on us. The bats were active, the katydids noisy, and something occasionally splashed in the lake.
He’d given me permission to speak, but I really wished he hadn’t. It’s less stressful, sitting like this when he’s silenced me. When any conversation is his responsibility and I only have to answer direct questions.
Part of me wanted to bring the breakfast conversation up again — to talk about what comes after, when I’m no longer in danger, but he’d been right about us needing to talk about it outside of high-protocol.
It would be easier to just let him dictate that, too, but I couldn’t do that.
I have a career I love, and that means I have to take charge of negotiations once I’m no longer trapped here.
My inner submissive had loved just being ordered around without the option to set boundaries, and I adored him for creating a safe space where that could happen.
He hadn’t made outrageous rules or demands, and that’d given me the gift of seemingly-outright submission.
I hadn’t had to back him off a single time, and it made the magical illusion of him just taking me, demanding and expecting absolute power exchange… fuck, it felt damned real.
And any negotiations at all would fuck that up.
But it couldn’t be helped.
Didn’t have to happen now, though, so I remained silent until I caught the silhouette of an owl flying in from the water to a tree not terribly far from the house.
“He’s watching us, Sir. I can feel it, even if I can’t see him.”
“Yeah, probably. It’s a good thing we aren’t field mice.”
I loved these evenings, relaxed in his arms. Sometimes he’d play with my tits until the nipples ached and throbbed, or circle my clit with just enough pressure to keep me straining, never enough to let me fall.
Other nights he’d drive his fingers into me and edge me until I was shaking and wordless, then pull them free and leave me empty.
Most nights, though, he simply held me.
The waist cincher dug into my ribs with every breath, a constant, unyielding reminder of exactly how thoroughly I belonged to him.
The plug’s shaft was mercifully narrow, and my weight wasn’t on the shoes.
Still, every shift of my hips made the base press against my raw hole — an unrelenting ache I couldn’t ignore.
The damned thing was uncomfortable as fuck, and yet comforting in the way only absolute ownership can be.
When he decided it was time to go inside, I didn’t know if he was going to fuck me or not. I hated not being able to rely on the schedule. Not knowing exactly what was about to happen.
He didn’t make me wait long before he was between my legs, my knees spread wide, and the blunt head of his cock was driving into me.
My mouth opened on a sound that never made it out.
The stretch was brutal right off the bat, my pussy still so fucking raw.
And then the plug shifted hard inside my ass, the sudden movement jarring every nerve ending that had grown used to it spreading me wide open.
Both overstretched holes blazed with agony, the pressure from one making the other feel twice as tight.
His monster cock felt enormous. Thicker. Deeper. Like he was carving space that hadn’t existed a moment earlier.
“Look. At. Me.”
The command cracked across the room, his voice both demanding and irritated. My eyes flew open to meet his gaze.
His dark gaze locked onto mine and held while his cock stayed buried so damned deep inside me, it was as if he owned every part of me, and it felt like he could see straight through every defense I still pretended to have.
“There you are,” he muttered, and rolled his hips, grinding the base of the plug against the densest cluster of nerves in my ass. The dual invasion made my vision white out for a second while I worried his dick might split me open, and I fought for air while he pounded into me.
My mouth opened in a silent scream, my gaze still on his face, watching him observe me while he fucked me.
It felt as if he was cataloguing every flinch, every flutter, every tiny sound I couldn’t quite swallow.
He fucked me like he was taking inventory of what belonged to him, and it was intimate, way too profound, but I didn’t dare close my eyes and make it stop.
Fuck, it was like he was invading both my body and my psyche at the same time, and it was too much.
I looked down in an effort to stop having to look at him, but he fucking growled at me, so I looked back up.
He picked up speed, hammering harder into me with every shove, and I shook my head back and forth. “Please slow down, or… fuck, it hurts, Sir! Not so hard. Please!”
Never had he ever slowed or let up when I begged, but I couldn’t help myself.
And the bastard actually sped up, I’m pretty sure, but then he reached down and pressed his palm over my clit, and just like that, I desperately needed to come.
But I was beyond shocked when he ordered, “Come.”
My body heard the command before my brain processed it, and an out-of-the-blue orgasm tore through me like a lightning storm. I cried out, clenching around both him and the steel, and he fucked me at his leisure while he watched me shake and tremble and come undone.
Then he started fucking me in earnest.
He didn’t give me time to come down. He set a hard, steady rhythm that forced the plug to shift with every thrust, turning the relentless dual sensation into a gauntlet.
My pussy was completely raw and swollen, and the friction built fast.
But he didn’t order me to come again, or even give me permission.
He kept me right on the edge, pulling back every time I got close, changing the angle, slowing down just enough to deny me.
The teasing went on until I was panting and begging, tears streaming while my hips lifted to meet him, and I begged and pleaded with both my body and my words.
When he finally said “Come, slave,” the second orgasm crashed over me like a dozen hurricanes this time.
The contractions were deeper and harder this time — around both him and the plug.
I screamed and writhed through every second of the release but he never even slowed, just fucked me through the aftershocks and straight into the next climb.
By the third orgasm, the stretch had gone from intense to burning, and every thrust scraped over oversensitive tissue.
But that was it. Three orgasms a night. Never more.
Except… he didn’t stop. He didn’t find his own release.
And he once again edged me until I was shaking and desperate, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, and when he ordered me to come yet again, the release was violent.
My whole body locked up around him. The plug felt enormous.
My pussy was scraped raw and swollen. I was crying in earnest now, the overstimulation too much. Too long.
But he still didn’t stop, and I heard myself pleading with him through my tears. “Please, Sir! I’m begging! Your slave is begging! It’s too much. I can’t! Please have mercy!”
He fucked me through the pleas, one hand braced to the right of my head, the other holding my left ankle on the mattress.
When the fifth orgasm hit, it fucking hurt.
The intense spasms were painful around his granite-hard girth, not to mention the unyielding steel in my ass.
I sobbed his name, and still he kept moving, driving into me fast and deep, dragging every ridge of his rough cock over tissue that had nothing left to give.
The sixth one broke me.
It built slower, heavier, and when he finally demanded I come around his cock, it felt as if he dragged it out of the depths of my soul.
The pleasure was enormous, but the tortured agony was right there with it — the raw, overstretched burn of being used for so long, and the constant pressure of the plug.
Also, the psychology of it, even more than the physical, knowing he could keep going as long as he wanted and I had no way to stop him.
I came so hard, my ears rang. I wrapped my free leg around his body and grabbed his shoulders, clinging to him while my body shuddered and clenched and tried to both push him out and pull him deeper at the same time.
Only then did he jackhammer me faster and faster, until he finally finished deep inside me, grinding hard against me while he came, rubbing me even more raw with the rough part of his cock while he emptied his balls inside his slave.
I lay there afterward, wrecked and trembling, the plug still seated, his cock still inside me as he softened.
Somewhere in the haze, I realized he’d given me the three orgasms I’d lost to the maintenance session.
The thought floated through my head and then dissolved as exhaustion slammed into me.
I have no idea whether I fell asleep or blacked out, but consciousness left me until he rose over me the next morning and used me all over again.
But this time, there was no orgasm, because we were well and truly back on the schedule.
It was a relief despite the tears I cried while he fucked me raw and left me desperate once again.
It felt good to be back on his routine. He’d taken the cincher off me after I’d passed out, which meant it had to go back on this morning — along with the damned heels.