Page 53 of Knife Volume 2

She shattered.

Her scream tore through the room and her body locked hard around the thick plug. Her cunt opened and closed, spasming with nothing in it.

Every convulsion made the weighted clamps on her nipples swing wildly, adding fresh sparks of pain that only drove her higher.

Eventually, when the orgasm slowed, he squeezed her clit harder and worked it with cruel fingers, tugging and rolling all those little nerve endings while her hips jerked helplessly in the ropes.

He watched her come apart with dark, possessive satisfaction — this woman who’d given everything up for him was now hanging from his pulleys, sobbing and screaming her pleasure despite her pain because he demanded it.

Mine.

The word pulsed through him with every brutal contraction of her body. She was his in a way no one else would ever understand. She’d severed her pack bonds, walked away from safety and family to run straight into his arms, trusting him to be enough. And here she was, exhausted, burning, wrung out from a night of suffering — still giving him every last piece of herself without hesitation.

He loved her so fucking much it hurt.

He kept working her clit through the long, rolling orgasm, pulling the plug in and out in short, punishing strokes to keep her at the peak. When her screams finally started to fade into exhausted whimpers, he put a harness on her that would hold the plug in, so there was no way it could come out, and released her from the ropes.

While he took the suspension cuffs off and replaced them with everyday cuffs, he told her, “We’re going for a run, and you still don’t have permission to speak. You’re allowed an exercise bra, whatever kind of shorts you want to run in, socks, and your choice of shoes. Brush your teeth and put your hair in a ponytail. No makeup. Chapstick if you need it.”

He looked at her a second. “If I’m missing something you need, you may speak the item or items, but nothing else.”

She shook her head, and he nodded. “Get to it.”

For wolves, a four-mile run is nothing.

But this was two miles down the mountain and then two miles back up, and she was exhausted and sore.

He didn’t let her slack, though. He’d told her before they started he would keep a count, adding to it every time she wasn’t keeping up.

He went slower than normal, a pace she should’ve been able to keep, but he owed her seven strikes by the time they returned.

She’d seen the prison strap before. He’d explained how he’d carved the two pieces of hickory for the handle, cut a piece of heavy rubber from an old industrial conveyor belt, sealed it between the hardwood and riveted it together. And he’d explained this was only brought out for punishment.

His little fucktoy was about to get her first lesson from his favorite teaching tool, and Knife was looking forward to hearing her screams.

Chapter 22

Punishment should happen as close to the transgression as possible, so Knife ordered her to strip in the kitchen, and he took the harness off before lifting her to the island, and wiggled the plug under it just because he could. He quickly connected her right wrist to right ankle, same on the left, pushed her backward so she was lying with her legs and arms in the air, and used his handy anchors at the base of the island to tie them off to spread her legs wide.

Her exhausted thighs trembled as he adjusted the rope to pull them level with her head and then out, out and out some more. Every muscle had been fatigued from her night, and while running had helped stretch her out and push blood into tissues that needed to heal, it’d also further drained her.

Movement caught his eye, and her pussy was doing its thing again, clenching and opening, shifting the plug in her ass. She knew this was going to be bad, but her scent broadcast how excited her body was about it.

Knife stood back for a moment and looked at her, taking in her scent while he admired her beauty and vulnerability. Her inner thighs were still deeply bruised from the Delrin, and she was a beautiful sight.

Then he got back to work.

It only took a few minutes to clamp her pussy lips open, tying them off to bands he fastened around her thighs. He debated on whether to leave the plug in or take it out, and decided her asshole needed to be exposed and bare, so he pulled it out.

And then he went upstairs for the prison strap and the suspension circle.

The hickory handle felt solid and familiar in his palm. The thick rubber blade was heavy, and he remembered measuring to figure out how much real estate he needed to make it a full pound of pure, merciless brutality. He’d settled on three inches wide, sixteen inches long, and a half inch thick.

He never brought it out for normal scenes. It was only used to punish a miscreant, or when he needed to make a serious point about how important obedience is during training.

This was the latter, and it was time.

“You earned seven,” he told her when he returned, voice low and calm. “One every fifteen seconds.”