Page 50 of Knife Volume 2

He’d told her he’d gotten in trouble multiple times, so Razor had taken three days off to give him a boot camp — super intense power exchange for three days, where he is spanked on a schedule and has to do a lot of tasks. He’s ordered around a lot, trained to do something new. It’s intense, and he both loves it and hates it.

“I don’t think I was pushing him to give me one,” Matty had said, “and yet, maybe I do, sometimes? It’s nice, having his undivided attention on me, even though it’s also hell to get through. I’m fine. He’ll never injure me bad. He made me run ten miles one night, and we were in the MC’s neighborhood, so he could cane my ass when I slowed. It was late enough none of the kids were out, and he ran every mile with me, but I’m human, and he’s… not.” A shrug. “My ass and thighs are striped red, and I remember it every time I sit down, but it’s… I may have hated it while it happened, but I wouldn’t trade a second of it. It brings us closer, when he reminds me what we are to each other.”

She figured the brothers talked to each other, and that she was probably going to get some kind of unstructured boot camp of Knife’s own making.

So while she kneeled in the garage, naked, he fed her his cock without ceremony, sliding deep into her throat, over and over. Slow at first, then he pounded her.

Tuesday’s own arousal was sky-high after hours on the bike with that too-big butt plug stretching her asshole. It’d gone from burning pain to a dull, throbbing ache, and back to fire and spasms again, the muscle hopelessly fighting the girth and stretch.

Every damned mile, she’d been fully aware of it. Every bump in the road, every sharp curve, every time he hit the brakes had made it grind deeper, made her clit throb and her pussy clench on nothing.

She moaned around him, the vibration making him groan. He fucked her face hard and fast, his hand wrapped around the back of her head. Drool dribbled down her chin and onto her boobs, but she kept her arms behind her back even though he hadn’t ordered it. She knew what he expected, and figured it wasn’t wise to go against even his unspoken orders tonight.

He didn’t come down her throat. Not all of it, anyway. He pulled out enough to get it on her tongue. When he was empty, he stepped back and watched her swallow.

“I want three fried egg sandwiches and some of those spicy noodle things you make,” he told her, voice rough as he zipped back up. “Make whatever you want for yourself as long as it doesn’t take any longer to make it, but you aren’t allowed to sample while you cook. No food without permission. You may have plain water if you’re thirsty. Rise and follow instructions. Do you need to use the restroom?”

She nodded, and he shook his head. “Verbal questions require verbal answers. Ask me what you need.”

“May I please use the restroom, Sir?”

“You may.”

And he was gone.

She fixed herself the same thing, moving around the kitchen with the heavy plug still stretching her ass while her clit throbbed with need.

He came into the kitchen as she was separating the noodles into two bowls, and she soon found herself back on her knees — beside his chair, arms once again folded behind her back, and a suction bulb on her clit. He ordered her legs wider, and the little bulb poked up like a mini-penis, moving a little with each beat of her heart, the constant pull making her pussy clench uselessly.

He fed her every bite of her sandwich, cutting off pieces and offering them with his fingers, brushing her lips each time. He was messy with the noodles, sauce smearing across her chin and dripping onto her breasts. She stayed on her knees, naked and plugged and throbbing, while he ate and watched her with dark, satisfied eyes.

When she forgot to say Sir during casual conversation, he told her calmly, “First and only warning. Say Sir every time you speak to me this weekend, or you’ll be punished.”

He wiped her face with a damp cloth before giving her permission to stand, and then the two cleaned the kitchen together.

The suction bulb fell off her clit while she loaded the dishwasher, but he only rinsed it and put it back on immediately, the sudden pull making her gasp. When they finished, he sat her on the island and put suspension cuffs on her ankles and wrists.

He ordered her to lean over the table, and he finally removed the plug, but then said, “Use the bathroom down here. There are glycerin suppositories under the sink. Use one. When you come to the bedroom, stop at the top of the steps until I give you permission to enter. Strict protocol from here on out.”

When she made it upstairs, he had a four-foot long four-by-four hanging from the pulleys instead of the usual circle.

She stood quietly at the edge of the room while he laid out several floggers ranging from cruel to brutal, the short Delrin, various clamps, suction bulbs, some straps, and a little vial with a dropper. Eventually he told her to come to him. He clipped her wrist cuffs to the outer edges of the beam, spreading them wide — and then lifted her ankles and attached them to the same points, suspending her from all four limbs.

It wasn’t bad yet, but she knew if he left her here it would become brutal. Still, for the moment, it felt almost good: the stretch, the exposure, the way her body opened for him.

Not the worst pose he’d put her in, and it’d probably be fun for a while.

He blindfolded her from behind without warning, plunging her into darkness. Then came the clamps, metal jaws biting into her outer pussy lips, one on each side, and she hissed at the sharp pinch. He wrapped a wide leather strap around each of her upper thighs, attached the clamps to them, and made adjustments until her lips were stretched tight, completely opening her so her clit and hole were completely exposed to the air, already starting to dry and tighten under the cool draft of the room. Every tiny shift made the clamps tug harder, sending fresh sparks of pain straight to her core.

He removed the suction bulb from her clit, and for one blessed second there was relief — before the flogger landed.

The falls struck her swollen clit with brutal accuracy, and frantic screams tore from her throat while he battered her clit. He moved to her pussy and it was a relief, at first.

Tied open, there was no way to protect herself while he thrashed her hole until it was raw and on fire before he moved to her asshole, the leather snapping against tender, exposed flesh again and again, his muscled arm relentlessly wielding the flogger until the entire area was a blazing, throbbing inferno — every nerve screaming and pulsing, burning. Her hips jerked uselessly in the suspension, but there was nowhere to go.

“Please!” she cried.

But before she could say anything else, he told her, voice dark and calm, “I want your screams, but no words, little painslut. I damned well know it hurts, so there’s no need to tell me, and if I want you to come, I’ll let you know. Consider it forbidden unless you hear me order it. Just scream for me — I don’t want to hear anything else coming from those cocksucking lips.”