Seconds later he was buried in her throat, and she fought for breath.
Upside down, bent backward, he fucked her throat hard and fast, one hand holding her left wrist while grasping her chest harness, the other wrapped around the back of her head.
And Tuesday was helpless, fighting for air while her clit throbbed under the damned knot, and her pussy clenched.
And again, she had no idea how long he fucked her face, only that when he finally came, it was yet another sensation. She’d never like the taste, and her brain catalogued his as what would happen if you put a slimy oyster in a blender with sour buttermilk and rancid bitters — but she swallowed every drop like a good girl, and then whined when he zipped the mouth closed again and she was leftwith the lingering, awful flavor stuck to her tongue and the back of her throat.
Then something struck her left breast — a sharp slice of agony that flared hot across her skin while she was still trying to catch her breath inside the hood, the taste of his come still strong.
She jerked hard, a muffled cry tearing out of her before she could stop it.
Another strike landed on her left thigh, just as sudden, just as stinging. Then her left breast again. The blows kept coming to her left side with no pattern she could predict, each creating a crisp, burning line that made her body flinch violently in the ropes. She had no idea what he was hitting her with. No idea how many more there would be. No way to brace or prepare. She could only hang there, helpless, while the pain kept arriving out of nowhere, each impact making the crotch knots grind harder against her clit and openings.
A pause, and then the pain started on her right side, back and forth from breast to thigh with no discernible pattern.
Her heart hammered. Adrenaline flooded her system, and her breath came fast and shallow behind the leather, tears soaking the inside of the hood, with no way to escape, no way to anticipate the next strike. Her body jerked and flinched with every blow, pressing knots against raw nerves while she helplessly tried to twist away from something she couldn’t see or hear coming.
Then the strikes stopped.
For a few heartbeats there was nothing but the ropes, the cinnamon, and her own ragged breathing.
A vicious sting exploded on the inside of her right thigh — pinpoint sharp, like a single spark of fire. She yelped, body jolting hard. Another mystery object. A cattle prod? Some kind of electric zap? The pain was intense but localized, gone almost as fast as it arrived, leaving the spot tingling and raw.
Another pop, this time on the underside of her left breast. Then one on the sole of her right foot. Then an especially brutal snap right beside the knot grinding into her clit.
They kept coming, fast and unpredictable, hitting a different spot every time — breasts, thighs, the bottoms of her feet, the soft skin just above her pubic bone. She never knew where the next would land. Each tiny explosion of pain made her flinch harder, the ropes scraping, her body twitching uselessly against the bondage. More adrenaline dumped into her system, and the fight-or-flight instinct surged through her with nowhere to go. Her pulse raced, her breathing turned frantic behind the leather, tears soaking the hood.
Whatever was causing the sharp little stings, they kept finding new places to bite her, and she couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t even brace for them.
And then both his hands were on her again, and she breathed out in relief until she realized he was tightening the crotch rope, forcing the knots closer, so they pressed harder into her most sensitive places.
The mouth hole was unzipped again, and she was relieved when the sponge touched her lips. She drank everything he offered, then the chin strap was back, the holewas zipped closed, and she felt herself rising into the air once more.
Time became her foe all over again. The clit knot a worse hell than ever. Her anal muscles cramping around the fat plug. Nothing to do with her loose arm, while her right shoulder and left hip were torqued by the circle her leg and arm were forced into.
And her spine still bowed into an arch, stretching everything unnaturally.
She had no idea how long she’d already hung there, or how much longer she would have to endure. The twelve hours she’d agreed to over French toast now stretched out infinitely before her.
Chapter 11
Knife made it to the end of a major scavenging run and hit a safehouse checkpoint. He saved his progress, set the controller down, and glanced at the clock on the wall.
Only twenty minutes since he’d last lifted her, but he planned to fuck her face again the next time he brought her down, anddamn, but he needed to sink inside her again.
It was 6:45, and they’d come upstairs at 10:40. Four more hours to go, so it could work for him to pull her down now and fuck with her head. He’d been leaving her in the air for an hour and a half, give or take, letting the ropes and the sensory deprivation do their work.
A shorter time up would make her think she’d gone into super-deep subspace, probably. Yet another mind-fuck.
Then he could leave her up longer, nearly two full hours, before bringing her down for the last time.
Because the point of these ten hours in the air was to properly season her for the final two hours, where he’d play with her nonstop, without reprieve.
Zero sensory input, making everything ultra-sensitive, and then too much sensory input. A total overload. More than she could possibly handle.
Knife stood, walked to the wall, and worked the pulleys to lower her yet again.
Her body was still arched beautifully, the crotch rope tight, knots pressed deep. The hood, headphones, and cinnamon were doing their job — she was floating, helpless, and completely cut off from the world.
