Page 67 of Knife Volume 2

“Out, and don’t dawdle.”

She crawled out on shaky limbs and took a left turn toward the door, not fully awake yet, but before she could get her bearings, he was behind her, one hand fisting her hair, the other pressing his lubed cock into her dry asshole.

He pushed in hard, spreading her wide, and she cried out as the thick head forced its way past her sore, tender ring. He didn’t give her time to adjust, to deal with the blazing fire of being suddenly forced open and invaded. He simply gripped her hips and pounded her ass — hard, fast, ruthless strokes that made her scream while the unrelenting brutal friction threatened to undo her.

He fucked her like he was claiming her all over again, hips slamming against her ass, cock driving deep. She was no longer asleep, but totally overwhelmed, and her arousal levels didn’t seem to understand she wasn’t allowed a fucking orgasm.

She braced as much as possible, and her head hung low while her clit throbbed and her empty pussy clenched desperately, threatening to tip her over into a forbidden release, her need so intense it bordered on madness.

When he finally buried himself to the hilt and came with low, gravelly sounds, her head dangled, heavy with exhaustion, and she trembled with surrender. She’d been utterly conquered, and he still hadn’t let her come.

He lifted her without a word and carried her to the bedroom, her body limp with exhaustion despite her nap. He sat her on the edge of the bed, quickly swapped her ankle cuffs for the heavier suspension ones, then locked her wrists together behind her back.

Then she was in his arms again, then lying on the floor on her back while he connected her ankles to the lowered beam, then watching him walk to the wall and reach for the ropes.

The pulleys worked over her, lifting her until she dangled upside down, her head a foot off the floor, her arms trapped behind her back so she had to hold them up. There was no way to let them down.

“Crunches,” he ordered. “Lift your head towards your knees. Get it as high as you can.”

His voice was flat, hard, all business.

She hesitated, trying to figure out how the hell she was supposed to do that while hanging upside down with her arms trapped behind her back, and he brought the thin cane down across the backs of her thighs with a sharp crack.

“Move.”

She strained hard, curling her body up with a desperate groan. The position was absolute hell — gravity pulling against her, her shoulders screaming from the earlier pose on the island, her abs already burning from the effort. She only made it halfway before her core gave out, and she dropped back with a pained gasp.

Three more cane strikes that made her scream, and then, “Again. Better. You’re a fucking wolf, act like it.”

She tried harder, muscles shaking violently as she fought to curl higher. Every inch upward felt like her abs were being shredded from the inside out, the strain so vicious it stole her breath.

“Better. Do it again and hold for a count of twelve.”

She went back up, and he counted so fucking slow, she collapsed when he reached five.

Then came the cane again, and he counted every strike the rest of the way, from six through twelve, at the same speed he’d gone before, but it seemed way faster now.

Then calmly said, “Again.”

She made it to eight the next time, which meant only four from the cane, but he said, “It feels like this isn’t enough incentive. Maybe the whip antenna I got off a wrecked seventies Trans Am in a junkyard last year will better convince you.”

Only Knife would walk through a salvage yard and see kink equipment. The thought surfaced and dissolved in the haze of endorphins and adrenaline before she could hold onto it, replaced immediately by the sight of him walking back with it, and her stomach cartwheeled, even upside down, because the damned thing looked fucking evil.

“Move, little painslut.”

She was determined to make it to twelve the next time, but she collapsed on eight again, and the first strike immediately landed like a line of liquid fire slicing viciously across the backs of her thighs. The flexible steel whippy antenna bit deep, delivering a white-hot sting that made her scream and jerk violently. It felt like someone had taken a red-hot wire and snapped it across her flesh, creating a burning line that throbbed worse with every heartbeat.

The second strike landed right below the first, then the third. The thin metal cut through the air with a terrifying whistle before it connected, and it felt as if he was fucking branding her. Her thighs were already bruised and tender, and the antenna turned the entire area into a canvas of pure, blazing agony.

She was sobbing openly by the fourth strike, every nerve screaming.

She made it to ten the next time. And the next.

“Amazing what properly applied motivation can produce, isn’t it? Listen carefully, little painslut. I want slow crunches now, up and then back down in a controlled manner in reps of a dozen. I’ll count, but if you come down too fast, the rep won’t count.”

Sweat as well as her tears now soaked into her hair, and her ab muscles quivered with every rep.

She’d strain upward with everything she had, body shaking, vision blurring, and then let herself back down just as slowly lest the cane once again land.