Page 26 of His Keepsake

I found myself writhing to get away even though I was fastened there, and as a last resort I twisted, squealing at him to stop, over and over. He ignored me. It was aching and awful, and my belly cramped, but he didn’t listen to my complaints. Instead, he leaned on me and used one hand to coax himself in. With his other hand he held my clawing hands at the small of my back until he was impossibly deep and thick in my guts. I gagged, tears of discomfort and humiliation trickling from my eyes.

“See? I fit just fine.”

“It hurts!” I sobbed.

He was holding still, but whether to let me get used to the sensation, or to stop himself from coming, I wasn’t sure.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He stirred his hips slightly, and I frowned against the sensation, trying to think loose thoughts but clenching around him instead. My body wanted him out, but I was too afraid to move. “Do that again.”

Annoyed, a little frightened, yet I clenched again automatically, and he groaned. His grip on my wrists was almost hurting enough to distract me from the churning in my belly.

“Good girl. That’s right.”

Damn him, I tried to push him out, but he only grunted. It didn’t sound like pain.

When he pulled partway out, I was so relieved I sobbed, but he only spat on where we were joined, then pushed back in fast enough to rob me of breath.

Jammed against the back of the couch, I tried to kick back at him, and failed. The ties held.

His hips kept moving, and I squealed, my toes curling as I tugged my wrists out of his grasp so I could hold onto the couch cushion. He let me go, maybe because he had other things on his mind, and instead he leaned on me, pressing me down with his arms.

Slow, shunting movements gradually sped up, making me burn. He added spit from time to time, but it was about as comfortable as having my asshole branded. I cried, unashamed at the sobs that escaped me. When his hand burrowed underneath, found my clit, and began to stroke me there, I fought the weird pleasure that surged through me. I was breathless and aching but couldn’t resist the fingers that knew exactly what I needed. The orgasm that had been building without my permission wound tighter, and I let go of control, all too aware that he wouldn’t stop—that he’d take exactly what he wanted. My eyes, staring, unfocused, made the cushion I leaned on a blur of blue, as he shunted me back and forth, jarring the couch. My body begged for him to come, wanting the added lubrication from that almost as much as the orgasm he threatened me with.

“I can feel your little body tensing and trembling, Emme,” he whispered against my nape. “Take the orgasm because you won’t be allowed another for a long time.”

I didn’t want to. Hell, I couldn’t let him win.

But it hurt, and I was helpless, and his fingers were cruel, dipping into my pussy and circling my aching clit. A shudder wracked my body, and I was ice cold and freezing hot. My legs tensed, toes digging in.

My pussy rippled, setting off a strange chain reaction that made me choke under the onslaught of sensation. His finger was in me, the heel of his hand pressed and pressed, and I came, hating him, hating myself, my ass on fire as I couldn’t help but push back against him in the crudest invitation. He gave another quiet groan that kept my orgasm at its pinnacle, and his finger wormed its way further into my pussy, even though there was no room, and my body felt stretched taut and at its limit.

A helpless cry of horrible, tortured pleasure split the air, and I dug fingerholds in the cushion under me, my whole body shaking and arcing like a short-circuiting wire. He labored over me, grunting, and then he slammed home and held me against him, anchoring my body to his with his grip on my pussy, two fingers in my cunt. His boots scuffed on the flagstones as his body emptied into mine, giving me the slickness I ached for, but too late to do much good. My asshole burned and stung, and his cock twitched deep inside, making me gasp at the strange feeling.

I lay there, mind shorting out and feeling fuzzy, my scalp and feet frigid from the dousing he’d given me, and maybe from shock.

He pulled out and a rush of fluid followed him, before my body clamped down. And if I hadn’t been so rattled already, I might have died of mortification.

The ties disappeared from my ankles, and I tried to get my legs under me, but they were wobbling almost as much as I was shaking. He pulled me up by the arm and inspected my face.

“Your lips are blue.” He tutted at me, as though I were a stupid child. I just stared at him and would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding my arm.

“Am I bleeding?” I looked down to see if some of the fluid coming out of me was blood, but tears blurred my vision.

“You’re fine.”

He started to walk me inside, pulling me along by the leash, but my legs gave out. For a moment I thought he might catch me, but he let me collapse into the grass.

“When you’re done being melodramatic, you can come in where it’s warm. I’ll find you something to wear.”

“Can I have a shower?”

“You just had a shower. You want another one?”

“No! Not like that. I’m just so cold.”

He sighed, as though I was the most demanding woman he’d ever met. “Crawl inside for me, and I’ll give you a bath.”

I frowned, not trusting him. “A warm bath?”

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