Page 74 of Knife Volume 2

She kept her tongue moving in slow, worshipful strokes and never let up on enough gentle suction to make sure she didn’t lose him. Never did she want him to use the prison strap on her again.

And the worst part, the part that made her cheeks burn and her clamped clit throb with fresh, desperate need — was how much the whole damned thing turned her on. Tuesday needed to come so badly, her entire nervous system was wound tight enough to snap from the constant, aching pressure she wasn’t allowed to relieve. Despite how sore and raw she was from everything he’d done to her, she needed him to flip her over and use her properly. She was willing to beg because she wanted release more than her next breath, but she didn’t have permission to speak. Her instructions were to keep his cock in her mouth.

So she stayed motionless except for her tongue, moving in slow, devoted strokes, breathing through her nose while he casually played his game, one hand occasionally resting on her shoulder like she was nothing more than a favorite pillow.

The contrast was devastating. After two days of being broken apart by his ropes and his sadism, in pain even when he wasn’t using her, she was reduced to this quiet, obedient service. Not even actively pleasuring him. Just a warm, available mouth.

The humiliation twisted into something darker and sweeter, feeding the now desperate need frantically roaring through her blood. She wanted to rock her hips, to beg him to fuck her again. But she didn’t. She stayed still, tongue moving in slow tracks, tears of frustration and overwhelming surrender stinging her eyes.

Because this was yet another way to be his.

Time lost meaning. She listened to the gameplay in the background while focusing on his cock, which occasionally grew a little harder, but mostly stayed semi-hard.

Eventually, he saved his game and ordered her upstairs and onto the bed. “Spread your legs wide, little painslut. Loop your knees over your arms so you can make sure they stay fucking wide open for me.”

She obeyed, with every inch of her still tender, swollen, and aching from the extended, multi-day scene — and yelped when he pulled her to the edge of the mattress, her pussy and ass nearly hanging off the side.

Her eyes tracked him while he plugged the violet wand in and stepped to her. The low hum filled the room, and she braced for the pain.

He touched the glass tip to her clit, and she jolted hard.

“That was one second.” His gaze met hers, serious. “You’ll ask me for each, adding a second each time.” He tilted his head a little. “The wording is Please hold the wand to my clit for two seconds.”

Her voice shook. “Please hold the wand to my clit for two seconds, Sir.”

“Of course, little painslut.”

The electricity crackled against her swollen flesh and she screamed, hips jerking, but she forced herself to stay open. The pain was sharp, white-hot. Too much, but at his look, she immediately said, “Please hold the wand to my clit for three seconds, Sir.”

By the time they reached eleven seconds, she was sobbing, thighs trembling violently, every muscle locked in the effort to keep her legs spread wide while he fucking electrocuted her clit. She thought she might actually die. The pain was so intense, so overwhelming, her mind started to fracture, and she imagined her heart might give out, which was ridiculous even for a human, and she was a shifter. But the possibility seemed real in the moment.

Still, she asked for it again. “Please hold the wand to my clit for twelve seconds, Sir.”

She only made it to three before her body betrayed her. She rolled to her side with a broken cry and slammed her legs shut, curling into a protective ball.

His hand immediately grabbed her cuffed ankle, pulled it to the top of the bed, and clipped it to ropes already tied to the headboard, so her leg was up in the air and stretched out to the side. He fastened her right wrist cuff to it as well, and then did the same with her left ankle and wrist, attaching them to the footboard.

Fear spiked through every cell in her body when he retrieved the prison strap from the chest and stepped to the side of the bed again.

The first strike landed on her left leg, on the inner thigh in the most sensitive spot. The heavy rubber bit deep, leaving a wide, burning welt that made her scream until her voice cracked. Two more on her left, then he struck her right leg in the same spot — three devastating times.

She thrashed and sobbed, tears pouring down her face, but she couldn’t close her legs. Couldn’t escape even one strike.

And then he took aim at her clit, and the pain was blinding. Another three strikes, and she still hadn’t managed to pull a breath in by the time he’d freed her arms and legs — and though she desperately wanted to roll back into a ball, Tuesday forced her body back into the position she knew he wanted.

“Your legs stay spread for this exercise,” he told her, his voice deep and authoritative, but calm. “They do not, for any reason, pull together. The phrase you are looking for, the next words to come out of your cocksucking mouth, should be to ask me to use the wand on your clit for twelve seconds, and my patience is not endless in this moment.”

She was a shaking, sobbing mess, with snot bubbles coming out of her nose, but she focused on him, determined to obey. However, she wasn’t sure she trusted her voice.

Failure wasn’t an option, though. This was the real test, and she’d never been a quitter.

Her voice was hoarse and broken, but she forced the words out. “Please hold the wand to my clit for twelve seconds, Sir.”

He pressed the violet wand back to her raw, abused clit, and she screamed through every single second, but she held her legs open. She took it, and she asked for thirteen. Then fourteen.

She had no idea how high he intended to go. She hoped for fifteen. Then hoped eighteen might be the end. Then twenty.

But he let her ask for twenty-one, and immediately applied the sparking, brutal devastation to her nerve-dense, inflamed, bruised, burning clit once again. She was shaking so hard she thought she might pass out, or worse, but she never closed her legs. She never begged him to stop.