Page 25 of Knife Volume 2

Tuesday woke on her stomach, face pressed into the pillow, with Knife’s thick cock already working its way into her sore, raw asshole.

The first thing that went through her mind was, ‘Of course he’s back in your ass. He always re-hurts what he tortured.’

There was no gentleness this morning. He thrust into the hole he’d fisted for the first time the day before, knowing how fucking sore it would be, and clearly feeding on her pain while he stretched her wide open before she could even fully awaken. The burn was worse than his fist had been the day before, and she gasped and yelped, her hips fighting to escape, but he gripped her waist and kept driving into her until he was buried to the balls.

There was no time to get used to him before he immediately pulled out and thrust in again. And again. He found a fast rhythm and fucked her hard, hips slamming against her bruised ass with every merciless thrust.

She was still so raw, every stroke felt like he was reclaiming territory already marked as his. When he pulled her arms back and up behind her, the strain on her shoulders flared white-hot, and she moaned brokenly into the pillow while he proved just how much she belonged to him. Proved without a doubt her body was his to use, even when it hurt.

But he was frustrated. She could feel it in his energy, though she couldn’t explain how. She knew she’d been right when he pulled out of her, lifted her, turned her around, and settled her neck into the pillory in the footboard.

Seconds later, her throat and wrists were locked in, and her bruised, battered knees had to bear most of her weight, which was unbearable even on the soft mattress.

She heard him walk away and return, but couldn’t see what he’d gone to get.

Then came a line of fire on her ass, and she immediately knew he’d retrieved a cane. She completely forgot about her knees, because he rained down fire on her ass and the backs of her legs, still bruised and hot from the cane, belt, and flogger the day before.

As if a mirror of the day before, alligator clamps with weights went on her nipples, the short chains pulling downward with every breath.

He tried to fist her ass again, but it was as if it’d tightened up from the damage of the day before. She tried to relax and let him in, but her sore muscles fought him every step of the way. His fingers pressed in slowly, until he had four inside her with his thumb tucked tight.

Her hole gradually stretched until it felt wider than ever, though he wasn’t all the way in, so clearly it wasn’t. The ravaged ring of muscle burned and spasmed while forced to yield under the relentless pressure.

Her screams filled the room as he pushed deeper, her body jerking hard, but the pillory held her firm.

He growled low in his chest every time her asshole clenched desperately around his knuckles, fighting him even as it opened. He kept working, twisting, pressing, trying to force his entire fist inside while she sobbed and shook, tears streaming down her face.

Eventually, he yanked his hand out. She was relieved until she scented the lube again, and her heart sank that he’d be going at her ass again.

But he didn’t. He worked his fingers into her pussy now, stretching the delicate, swollen folds, pressing harder, trying to force his fist past the tight resistance, and once again smashing her inner lips against bone that kept him out. Tears streamed down her face, but he kept at it while her entire body trembled violently, and her cunt fluttered and fought around his hand. He couldn’t get all the way in there either, but the brutal, relentless attempts shattered her.

Partway through, he ordered her to come, possibly thinking it would help him get in. When one orgasm died down, he’d order another, and orgasm after orgasm ripped through her — each harder and more devastating than the last while he kept pushing, kept stretching, kept owning every desperate, clenching inch of her.

When he eventually gave up, he left. She watched his naked ass walk across the room and head down the steps, and didn’t protest.

Then listened to him downstairs cooking breakfast. She used her nose to try to guess what he was fixing. Bacon, for sure. Steaks.

When he returned, he fed her from his fingers while she stayed bent and displayed — eggs, steak, bacon, and toast with peach preserves. Every bite from his fingers.

And damn if her tortured, raw clit didn’t throb in time to her heartbeat a little more every time his fingers touched her lips.

But when she was finished eating, he took the plate back downstairs and cleaned the kitchen before returning.

Her knees were on fire now, and she opened her mouth to tell him when he returned, but he shook his head and put his finger to his mouth, so she closed her mouth and didn’t speak.

But then the bastard added fresh weights to the alligator clamps still biting into her nipples, and she could only whimper at the sudden extra pull, the chains swinging with every shaky breath.

While she was still reeling from that, he climbed onto the bed behind her and rammed his dick back into her asshole, her stretched muscles unable to fight him, despite the fact she felt as if she’d swollen closed while she ate.

He gripped her hips and pistoned in and out like he was marking territory all over again. Her sore, abused hole burned around him, the stretch and friction too much to survive, but she pushed back into it anyway, needing the reminder as much as he needed to give it. Each thrust sent fresh sparks through every tortured joint and sent waves of pain deep into her gut, but she arched her back and gave him full access because despite her exhaustion and pain, despite how raw she felt inside and out, she was still completely his.

Based on what she could see of the sun outside, she figured it was around noon when he slowed, buried himself deep, and asked in that rough, commanding voice, “Do you want to change now, or wait another two hours?”

She was right on the edge of another orgasm, body trembling, clit throbbing, every nerve screaming, and she understood exactly what he was doing — holding her release hostage, making her choose.

“Two more hours,” she gasped, the words barely making it out.

His low, satisfied growl vibrated behind her, and he started moving again, harder and faster, like he was rewarding her for the right answer even though his next words were, “Don’t you dare come until I give permission, little painslut.”