Page 66 of Knife Volume 2

He’d focused on fucking her asshole all weekend and then again once they got home, and she’d swear he was growing fatter inside her.

He fucked her ass with the same savage rhythm, then switched back to her pussy, then her ass again — using whichever hole he wanted, whenever he wanted, with no mercy and no pattern she could anticipate.

Every shriek, every frantic scream, made him drive harder, as if her sounds fed his sadist. His hands gripped her hips, and his hips pistoned like a pile-driver, using her to slake his own dark needs.

She was nothing but a vessel for him in that moment, locked in wood, spread open, unable to do anything but take it.

After hours and hours in his ropes, she didn’t want to be anywhere else, and that feeling only added to the helplessness and vulnerability, trapped in the pillory with her shoulders pressed against it, no way to move forward even another millimeter, forcing her to accept every deep, punishing stroke while her bruised cervix and raw asshole screamed.

His fingers reached around to her bruised, swollen clit, and he pressed down on it. Hard.

She yelped and jerked, the pain a surprise, but the prison strap had battered it, and it hurt so fucking much. He chuckled, and his fingers moved to the side, massaging all around it, firm movements that dragged over the bruised, hypersensitive flesh. The pain and pleasure twisted together so violently she could only pant. Her legs spread a little farther apart to give him room because every stroke sent sparks shooting all through… everything.

Her empty pussy clenched hard around nothing, and her asshole tightened around his thick cock while he continued fucking her — slowly now. The change in rhythm opened a crack in the wall of pure sensation, and she drank it in while Knife’s fingers teased, massaged, and hurt her clit. The hands of the man who could’ve had a submissive who lived for the power exchange, who’d chosen instead a painslut who didn’t like being told what to do. She loved him so much it hurt, and her need roared through her like wildfire, building higher and higher until she was shaking, whimpering, fighting with everything she had not to tumble over the edge because he hadn’t given her permission.

But his fingers kept working her clit with cruel perfection while his cock hammered deep into her ass, and the devastating mix of pain and pleasure pushed her right to the razor’s edge again and again.

When her body was about to plunge over the edge despite her attempts to hold onto it, he pressed directly over her clit again, yanking her back, and her screams filled the room.

The pain had held it off for a second, but now it was back again, and tears streamed down her face. Her body shook. She was right on the edge again, so close she could almost taste the orgasm, but he never gave her permission.

She thought she might lose her mind. Every thrust, every circle of his fingers, every denial pushed her higher until she was sobbing, begging with her body, her hips pushing back desperately even as fresh tears ran down her face and landed on the floor. She needed to come so badly it felt like she was coming apart at the seams.

But he didn’t let her.

Eventually, he grabbed her hips again and fucked her harder, deeper, claiming every sore, aching inch of her until he finally buried himself in her ass and came with a low, guttural growl.

She felt every heated pulse of him inside her while her own denied need roared through her like wildfire. She was shaking, sobbing, dripping, completely wrecked.

But he merely went to the bathroom, returned, put his jeans back on, and walked down the steps.

Leaving her in the pillory, wrecked and needy.

She was so exhausted she nearly drifted off to sleep, but the hard wooden board under her throat meant every time her head started to drop, the edge pressed into her neck. She couldn’t relax, had to hold her head up, so she hovered in a strange, aching half-sleep, body throbbing, mind floating while all her bruises and strained muscles kept her just aware enough to remember exactly where she was and who she belonged to.

She could hear him downstairs, could smell the scent of chicken cooking, and later, various spices.

Eventually, she heard him on the steps, and he pulled a table in front of her face, put a chair beside it, and fed both her and him, with her still trapped in the pillory.

He’d put together chicken and pasta with a few veggies, and at the first bite, she recognized the pesto as her own from-scratch recipe. He’d also followed her instructions for the shaved parmesan on top, and it hit the spot.

She ate slowly, savoring the flavors, and let the simple act of being fed by him settle into a deep warmth inside her chest.

When he finally unlocked the pillory, he lifted her, carried her into his large closet, and settled her on all fours facing a cabinet.

He slid a panel to the side, and she was surprised to see the bars of a cage. How had she not known he had a cage in his closet?

He opened the door, pointed, and said, “In.”

She crawled into the cage without hesitation and was pleasantly surprised to find the thin mattress was actually comfortable.

She couldn’t stretch all the way out, but this was still heaven. No ropes. No cuffs. No plug or egg tormenting her. She curled up tightly on her side, knees drawn to her chest, and was asleep before the closet door clicked shut.

- - - ❖ - - -

Tuesday didn’t know how long she slept. It could’ve been ten minutes or two hours, but she was jolted awake by a racket — his large belt buckle being dragged back and forth across the bars.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she was still groggy and disoriented when he opened the cage door.