Chapter 9
Magnum
I dragged a kitchen chair into the open space, sat, and took a few minutes to just look at my beautiful Storm.
As always, she was perfect — palms flat on the wood, even though she had to stretch a little to keep from putting them on the glass.
Her legs were spread, and her ass pushed up and out, so I could see the thick base of the plug peeking from between her cheeks, with her plump lips silhouetted below.
The cincher compressed her waist considerably, leaving exaggerated, sexy lines between ribs and hips, and every shallow breath she took made the steel bones shift and move ever-so-slightly.
I wanted to make this night memorable for both of us, and I tried my hardest to burn this image into my brain.
“Come here,” I finally said, and it came out as an order, which was fine. Didn’t matter if I stated it as a request or a command, she’d still come just the same.
Sure enough, she stood, turned, and walked to me like a fucking runway model.
I instructed and guided her over my lap and deliberately shifted her forward, tilting her off-balance until most of her weight rested on her arms. She had to hold herself up or risk going face-first into the floor, so there was no way to reach back and try to fight me.
The position left her completely open — ass high, cunt and plugged hole on full display, and I couldn’t resist sinking two fingers into her cunt and then licking them.
I wiggled the plug, tugged on it, and then got started with open-handed strikes on her luscious ass cheeks, light to start — so soft and easy, I could scent her frustration.
I alternated the swats with caresses, rubbing her ass and the backs of her thighs, and then struck the spots I’d just rubbed.
Every so often, I’d slide my fingers back into her cunt, or massage around her clit, or tug and pull at the plug until she was gasping and squirming.
I gradually hit harder, and her ass went from pale to a soft pink, then deeper, to a rosy flush. I took my time. I wanted her floating before I pushed harder.
When her scent spiked sweet and desperate, I shoved three fingers into her cunt, curling and pressing until her thighs trembled and her breath turned into short, frantic sounds.
I kept her right on the edge for a solid two minutes, reminding her slaves don’t come without permission — and then I pulled my hand free and whaled on her ass.
I paid attention to every shift in her scent, every tiny change in the way her body tensed. I hit her hard enough to keep it at a good pain level. This was supposed to be a special treat, so I fed her arousal with erotic pain she could handle.
Over time, her ass deepened to deep burgundy, and soft, broken noises slipped out of her with regularity. I edged her with the spanking, letting the rhythm, the heat, and the sting work her into a frenzy.
When everything about her told me she was close — scent, sounds, movements — I put more force into the next dozen swats and ordered, “Come, slave.”
And my little Stormy girl shattered over my lap. Her entire body locked and shuddered, while the most beautiful sounds came from her chest and throat.
“That’s it,” I told her. “What a good little masochist you are, coming without anyone touching that cunt or your little clit. Coming from pain alone.”
I kept striking through it, harder, faster, feeding the climax with chaos and pain.
Every blow landed while her body was still locked and shaking, overwhelming her with sensations and pain she isn’t used to reaching this kind of release from.
When the strongest pulses started to fade, I shoved three fingers deep into her cunt and fucked her with them, rough and relentless, while she sobbed and clenched and rode the rest of it out.
“Oh what a good little pain-slave you are,” I taunted her, and then pulled my hand out, gave her another dozen hard strikes to the backs of her legs this time, and forced four fingers into her cunt and pressed hard. “Come on my hand, my red-assed little fucktoy.”
I kept her coming for so long, she wilted over my lap when I finally let her stop, sliding down so her forearms held her up, her head between her arms.
I wiggled the plug a little more, and then lifted her in my arms and just sat and held her like an infant.
It was heavenly, holding my girl after I’d completely worn her out, and I just enjoyed it for at least five minutes.
But I wasn’t finished with her. The goal was to leave her so thoroughly used and sore, she’d still feel every thrust a week later, still be so raw and tender she’d think of me every time she sat.
I’d altered what came before our routine, but we were going to end the night the way I end all of our days — with her on her back and me in her cunt, pounding her through even more orgasms, until I was ready to empty myself inside the vessel she became for me every night.
- - - ? - - -
Storm
I heard him talking, but it took a minute for my brain to process the words.
“Slaves don’t get to collapse just because they’re tired. Fix us both a glass of tea, my exhausted little cunt.”
I managed to stand with his help, and then walked on trembling, shaky legs to get the glasses, to pour the tea, and then to take the glasses to the table, since he’d moved the chair back to it.
“Permission to sit,” he told me, while he stood and drank his tea.
I winced and then gasped when my butt landed in the seat and the plug shifted inside me, stabbing into me and making the ring of muscles spasm, which made them burn all over again.
He grinned. “Careful of the plug.”
It wasn’t a question, so I had to be quiet. Probably wouldn’t be good to call him a sadistic smart-ass in that moment.
The very second I drank the final drops of my tea, he said, “Get your ass upstairs to the bedroom, slave. You may use the toilet if you need to, and then wait for me in wall pose.”
I looked at my glass, wondering if I should put it in the dishwasher before I followed his orders, but then stood and left it. If he’d wanted me to clean up, he’d have said so.
My shaky legs protested the stairs, and every step shifted the heavy plug and sent a fresh burn through the ring of muscle stretched tight around it — but it was still foreplay for what came next, and my clit throbbed with need.
I sat carefully in the bathroom, but the burn when I peed made me suck in a sharp breath and blink hard. I patted myself dry because no way in fuck was I rubbing myself when I was already raw.
While I washed my hands, I stared at my tear-streaked face in the mirror a few seconds, but I didn’t want to be dawdling when he came up, so I stepped into my bedroom, placed my hands against the wall at head height, and then walked my feet backward until my back was arched, my ass was high, and I felt the pose all the way from my toes to my fingertips.
Wall pose.
The familiar position settled me. We were back on the routine, which should mean no more surprises. It was comforting, knowing what was coming. What was expected of me.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes again, but these were different. This was our last night for a while. The last time he’d pound me through the mattress — for who knew how many weeks.
I shoved the dark thoughts down and focused on the stretch in my shoulders, the constant pressure of the plug, the way I had to fight to breathe around the cincher.
I could be sad later. Right now, I only wanted to feel him.
I heard his footsteps on the stairs, then moving into the room.
“On the bed, slave.”
While he undressed, I folded the blanket and sheet down, then climbed on and lay on my back — legs lifted and open, offering myself to him.
He planted a knee on the mattress, leaned down, and gave my slit a few slow, thorough licks that made my hips twitch. Ten seconds at most, then he was over me, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, and he drove in.
I was already so sore from being fucked over the island, and then he’d been so rough with his fingers while I was over his lap.
The fresh stretch and vicious friction tore broken sounds out of me from the start, and tears spilled sideways into my hair.
But Magnum never worried about my tears while he used me, and as always, they seemed to drive him to pound into me harder. Faster.
He hammered into me over and over. Rhythmic, powerful strokes that forced every textured ridge over raw tissue.
The cincher held me so tight I could barely breathe.
The heels trapped my feet into the shape he wanted them, even in the air.
The plug made every thrust a dual invasion, yanking and moving it with every violent shove.
Despite my tears, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. It’s who we are. It’s how he sates his needs — using my body, driving into me however he needs to get off, indifferent to whether I can take it or not.
And clearly, my body can handle it, whether I think I can or not.
But on this night, he slowed partway through.
It wasn’t mercy. Magnum has never offered mercy. No, this was as if he wanted to savor exactly how much he was hurting me.
He moved with the same brutal power, but unbearably slow.
Still far beyond forceful, so he went deep and stayed there a few seconds before withdrawing and doing it again — fucking me in slow motion, but somehow still pitiless and harsh despite moving like a damned turtle, so fucking deliberate and calculated.
Each drive bored impossibly deep, and he ordered me to look him in the eyes while he held there a heartbeat before scraping rough, grating cock back over my already abused flesh on the way out, and then back in.
He leaned down until our foreheads touched, breath mingling, and somehow I think this gave him even more leverage to drive into me in slow-motion.
It wasn’t gentle, not even close, but it was intimate in a way the usual pounding could never be.
The intensity of it, the way he focused on my face while he filled me over and over, cracked so many emotions loose, I felt them in my chest, in my throat. My tears were as much about the intimacy as the pain of his cock spreading me wide and scraping me raw.
The tears kept falling, but I didn’t try to stop them. I hid nothing from him.
The slow, heavy rhythm seemed to last forever, but eventually, he gradually began to pick up speed again, until the familiar jackhammer pace that left no room for thought was back.
He was deeper in me than he’d ever been, as if going slow with that kind of intention had allowed him to wedge more of himself into me, and I heard the words coming out of my mouth before I realized I was going to say them.
“Please, sir! It’s too much! I can’t—” I had to draw breath in to say more, “Sir! Please have mercy!”
He was pounding me so hard my words came out staccato, but he wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t seem to hear me.
My hands came up, and I pushed at his shoulders. His chest. Desperately trying to shove him away.
He caught both hands and pinned them to the mattress beside my head, holding me open and helpless while he fucked me without mercy.
“Please have mercy, Sir!” I begged, over and over, until he finally issued his own command.
“Come, slave.”
I hadn’t even known I was close to an orgasm, but a release erupted inside me like an explosive volcano, and it tore through me in long, agonizing waves.
My pussy muscles clamped down around him while my asshole did the same to the plug, and then all my muscles spasmed and contorted while I flailed under him, along for the ride with zero control while wave after wave of the torturous orgasm wrenched through me.
When it eventually began to ease, he growled against my ear, “No, little fuckslave. I didn’t say you could stop. Massage my motherfucking cock with that tight little cunt.”
His words spurred everything back into high gear, and the forced, endless contractions kept coming until everything tipped over into a raw, overstimulated, incessant agony while I was lost in waves of bliss I couldn’t escape.
And then he drove in deeper than ever, so my pussy burned a thousand degrees from the stretch. His spine bowed while he stared at the ceiling and came deep inside me — and his noises were inhuman, low sounds that vibrated through the room and bounced off the walls.
At length, he finally pulled out and ran his hand over my boobs, down my stomach, and patted my mons. The finality of it made my sobs intensify, as if they came from some deep, jagged place inside me.
Five weeks of missing him, two perfect weeks of having him, and the knowledge that tomorrow he would leave again — it was too much.
He cleaned me gently with a warm cloth, changed my cincher out for the nighttime one, unlocked and removed the shoes, rolled me onto my side, turned off the light, and curled around me from behind.
A heavy arm settled over my waist, and his mouth brushed the back of my neck. “Such a good little cunt,” he said, voice soft now. “Bearing so much pain for your owner. Sleep, slave. Close your eyes and drift. I’m not gone yet.”
I cried quieter after that, the tears soaking into the pillow while his heartbeat thudded steady against my back. The plug still held me open, and my pussy was on fucking fire, but his body still surrounded mine, and all was right with the world when I fell asleep in his arms.