Page 22 of Knife Volume 2

The bulbs came off and he carefully snapped cruel, steel-toothed clamps on the base of each nipple, leaving the ends exposed for the electric toothbrush, which he used with slow, methodical patience, ramping her screams right back to the top, and he kept at it until they went ragged.

Eventually, he removed the clamps and used his hands again — pulling, twisting, squeezing with everything he had — because he wanted her to feel him in this, not just a tool. His hands. His strength. His decision to hurt her in the most personal, intimate ways.

And then his gaze fell on the leftover ginger. The fingers he hadn’t needed. He clamped her nipples again, whittled some slivers of ginger, removed the clit clamp, and sadistically worked the slivers one at a time under the hood, tucking them in where they’d burn slowest and deepest, where she couldn’t shake them loose or squeeze them out.

Then put the clamp back on and waited for the heat to do its job — to brand his fucking will into the raw nerve endings of her most sensitive sexual organ.

The heat built slowly, moving from sinister warmth to a raging fire, and she went very still for a few seconds, processing, and then her hips tried to move and couldn’t while her sounds became louder and more desperate. Not screaming. Pleading.

He watched her and felt nothing but satisfied.

It reminded him the ginger plug in her ass had long since done its job. He pulled it free, replaced it with his cock, and was gratified to find the ginger had drawn things up after he’d fisted her, and he pounded her hard and fast.

Still, he switched to her cunt to finish, and was pleased to discover it was swollen and inflamed, making it so fucking tight he had to work to get his cock inside.

It took him a while to work up enough speed to orgasm, but he took his time before he once again emptied himself inside her, slapping her clamped clit to give her permission to come a few moments before he let loose.

When he finally stepped back, her asshole was practically begging to be stretched all over again, and it took nearly ten minutes to work the giant plug back in.

His cock was hard all over again by the time it seated, and he realized there was a hole he hadn’t paid anywhere near enough attention yet. Shifters can’t get sick from ass-to-mouth, and his cock was clean anyway, but he swiped it with a wipe to show a little consideration before he walked to her front, gently removed the gag, fisted her hair, fed his cock past her lips, and crammed it down her throat.

She had no say in the pace, the depth, or the duration, and her body swung helplessly in the ropes with every vicious thrust.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, and he fucked her face even harder while a dark, possessive satisfaction flooded his psyche.

He buried himself deep to come, but then pulled back and dumped the majority of his load into her mouth to force her to taste it, to have to choke and swallow around him to keep from spilling his seed and earning a punishment.

She gasped for oxygen when he pulled out, and then attempted speech, her voice hoarse and shattered. Wrecked.

“Please, Sir. Please. I beg for mercy.”

He breathed in her scent and knew he’d taken her farther than this before. She’d been in worse shape and hadn’t used her safeword.

This was her needing him to say no. Needing him to take the choice away — to refuse her, to hurt her even after she begged for mercy.

He lifted an earmuff, pulled the earplug, and asked, “Is it bad enough to ask for ketchup on your spaghetti?”

She clamped her mouth shut, and he replaced the earplug and earmuffs.

He offered her the straw for more electrolyte water before he inserted a bit gag and buckled it tight, because after her entreaty, Knife needed to prove to both of them she could take a lot more, and he was going to use every sensitive place on her body to fucking prove who her body belongs to now.

Chapter 9

Tuesday drifted somewhere outside herself, held together only by the ropes and every throbbing, pulsing, burning pain that had become her whole world. The ropes on her upper torso bearing so much of her weight, the strain on her leg bearing the rest of it. Every pull of the weight dragged her ankle down, yanking her leg around. The crushing pressure of the clamps on her nipples and clit was far past unbearable.

Those excruciating sensations could no longer be classified as either pleasure or pain, but were the only thing keeping her anchored in the moment, keeping her from dissolving completely into the misty dark. There was no past, no future, no thoughts — just the ropes, the agonizing sensations, and the distant, comforting knowledge that he was still there, still touching her. Still working her over as only he could.

But then his fingers were at her face, and he removed the earmuffs first, then the blindfold.

Even the dim evening light stabbed her eyes through her eyelids after so many hours in total darkness. She squeezed them shut, but the pain still stabbed at her brain.

Her leg relaxed a little, no longer pulled so far out to the side. She felt herself being lowered and opened her eyes a quick second to confirm before squeezing them closed again. It was too bright to be sure. Her eyes needed to adjust.

When she felt the mat on her belly, she was certain, and she was relieved to be flat on it, with no wedge arching her back and forcing her head up, where she had to use exhausted neck muscles to hold it.

A wave of relief washed through her along with profound disappointment when she realized this likely meant the scene was ending. She was beyond exhausted and relief should’ve easily won, but it didn’t. No matter her fatigue, she wasn’t ready for it to end.

He was gone a second, then back, and gentle hands rolled her over. It was awkward, with her arms locked at the small of her back, but he soon made her forget that when he yanked the clamps from her nipples.