Chapter Ella
Ella
When I felt the warmth of his thighs against my flank, I waited and braced my hands on the floor. The chair creaked as he shifted. His cock lined up with my arse, and I held my breath.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice deep and dangerous.
“I w-want—”
“Beg,” he cut in, pressing harder against me. “And use my name.”
I released a shuddery breath and took a moment to compose myself.
“Please, can you fuck my arse, Nick?” I whispered.
“Louder,” he snapped.
“Please, can you fuck my arse, Nick?” I said again, louder this time.
I was relieved he wasn’t using my pussy, even if it didn’t stop the arousal curling low in my belly. The truth was, going from zero dicks to three did something to you—and they always made me come.
“No.”
The word hung between us. I glanced over my shoulder and caught his smug smirk.
“I don’t want you growing complacent or lazy,” he said calmly. “Use your hole and fuck your own arsehole on my dick.”
Silence followed—until his phone vibrated on the wooden table.
They all wore different faces.
But their rotten souls were all the fucking same.
I faced forward, took a deep breath, and pushed back on him, hissing when I felt him press into me. It wasn’t the same without lubricant. I could feel everything—the heat, the friction—as I forced my muscles to relax.
Another deep breath, and I pushed again.
“Oh, yeah,” Nick groaned. “Give me that arse, Ella.”
The phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Focus on me. Move it,” he said, tapping my back. “You’ve hardly got the tip in. Put some effort into it.”
Anger made me shove back harder, and we both gasped. I felt the first piercing slip inside. I knew there were five more to go.
Without warning, he gripped my arse cheeks and dragged me back until the next one slid in. Spit landed on my arse.
“Thank me for your lube,” he said. “Nice and sweet.”
“Thank you for the lube, Nick. I app—appreciate it,” I stammered.
I breathed again and forced myself back, harder this time. The saliva worked.
“Thank you,” I gasped, rocking forward—then pushing back again.
“I like that,” he mused, releasing his grip. “Keep thanking and fucking me.”
My lips trembled, but I crushed every thought. I focused on counting how many times I said thank you before I’d fully impaled myself on him—until I felt his soft hair brush against my arse.
Nine times.
But he wasn’t done humiliating me.
His fingers slid from my arse to my pussy, circling until I coated them. I shut my eyes when he chuckled and wiped them on my back.
“Now we both know how much you love cock up your arsehole,” he gloated. “Go on. Make me come.”
I braced my hands on the floor, ignored the ache in my knees, and began to rock. Slow at first—then faster as I loosened for him.
I hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated them for what they made me become.
And I hated Nick most of all for never letting up.
But I didn’t stop fucking his cock.
The bitterness drove me on.
“Fuck, yeah,” he hissed, gripping me again.
This time he dragged me up and down his length.
“Dirty little arse slut,” he growled, speeding up.
I stared straight ahead, fixing on the canvas on the back wall.
It didn’t stop my body from moving with him.
Swallowing every inch.
Letting him use me.
“Nice and open for me now,” he growled.
I kept breathing.
Moving.
Watching the red and yellow paint blur together—dark brown pooling in the corner.
The chair scraped. His legs pressed against mine. His fingers slid to my pussy.
No.
But my arse clenched around him.
He said something.
Flesh slapped against flesh—like last night.
I breathed until I couldn’t.
Until I came for him.
Until I heard his moan.
He pulled out suddenly.
Cool air hit my open arsehole.
My empty pussy still fluttered.
Silence.
He sighed, loud and satisfied.
The lighter clicked. Smoke filled my lungs.
“Turn around and lick my come off the floor.”
I swallowed hard and shuffled around. Thick white streaks stood out against the darker wood. He lifted his hand, cigarette glowing as he inhaled.
“Lick my dick clean next.”
Smoke curled around me as I stared at the splatter on the floor. I spread my hands and bent down, dragging my tongue along the wood.
I took my time.
Not because I enjoyed it.
But because I didn’t want him to see my tears.
?
?
?
I stood in the shower.
The water rained down on me.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t try to wash myself clean.
It wasn’t possible.
My eyes fixed on the perfect line between the tiles. On how the grout stayed so brilliantly white. Untouched.
In my flat, the bathroom grout was yellow. Cracked. Coming apart at the seams.
I wondered if anyone missed me.
If anyone cared.
A shudder ran through me when a gust of cool air slipped into the shower.
Then hands settled on my shoulders.
“What’s wrong, little fucktoy?” Nick whispered.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He picked up the pink washcloth and the body wash, snapping the lid open.
“This is your life,” he said calmly. “This is what you are now. So snap out of it.”
I blinked.
Nodded.
I preferred my yellow, cracked grout.