Page 50 of Magnum, Volume 1

“Right, Sir.” I turned my head a little so he could hopefully see my smile. “Good morning.”

He yanked the sheet off me and said, “Good morning to you, too, cunt.”

He leaned away from me and sat up. “Legs up and out, slave. Grab your ankles.”

The motion fucking hurt. My thighs protested, my pussy lips spread wide and pulled at the constantly-raw flesh between, but that was nothing compared to the deep, bruised, tortured throb in my asshole. It felt as if he’d shredded it. It hadn’t hurt at all when I first woke, but moving reminded me of just how badly he’d hurt me, and every muscle and nerve ending he’d battered and forced open last night screamed back to life.

The sharp, aching burn made my breath hitch, and a broken little whine slipped out before I could stop it. I held my ankles like he’d ordered, holding myself open for him despite the pain it brought. My hole felt swollen and tender, and every shift sent fresh sparks of pain radiating through me.

He moved between my spread thighs and looked down, his gaze dark despite the almost-grin. “Such a pretty shade of burgundy,” he said, voice low. “Your hole closed up nice and tight overnight, so putting the salve on is going to be a lot more fun this morning.” He met my gaze. “For me, not so much for you, but such is the life of a slave.”

I felt the cool touch of the salve first on the outside, his fingers spreading it slowly and deliberately over the swollen, abused rim.

It felt almost good until he pressed a finger inside, working the salve deeper, and the stretch made my back arch off the bed with a sharp, involuntary gasp. My hole was so raw, even a single finger inside me felt huge.

He pulled out, got more salve, and then went back into my ass with two fingers, twisting them slowly, pressing deeper, relentlessly coating the insides of my raw, tender walls. I held my breath to keep from yelping and squealing, but I couldn’t stop the broken sounds that slipped out of me. My legs trembled, and I squeezed my ankles to keep from letting go and rolling away.

“Easy,” he murmured, but there was no mercy in it. He pulled his fingers out, got more salve, and went back, working this new salve into my asshole, pressing deeper this time, until I was panting. The burn flared hot and sharp, but my pussy clenched and opened while he worked — how humiliating, for him to see how much I was turned on even while he tended to the damage he’d done to my asshole.

By the time he finally pulled his fingers out I was shaking, a confusing mix of relief and desperate need pulsing through me. He always fucks me in the morning, but there are no orgasms. Would he allow one since I didn’t get any the night before?

My asshole throbbed in time with my heartbeat — and my clit — while I watched him wipe his fingers on a baby wipe like he’d just finished a routine chore.

“Permission to release your legs.”

I let them down slowly, wincing despite the relief. My entire lower torso felt used and tender, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning of the day made my breath catch again.

He leaned over me and kissed my nose. My forehead.

“You have to be starving. Let’s head down and work on breakfast. Permission to stop over in the bathroom. Probably want to pat your cunt with tissue instead of wiping, this morning. Don’t want to accidentally wipe any salve off your asshole.”

Part of me was disappointed he wasn’t going to fuck me this morning, but he wasn’t wrong about how hungry I was, so I decided at least he was seeing to one of my needs.

And okay, the salve on my asshole had made it feel better, but shit, it’d hurt while he’d put it on.

He stood, stepped into shorts, grabbed his phone, stepped to the door, and looked back. “Don’t forget to stay on your toes, slave.”

And then he was gone.

When I made it downstairs, walking on my damned toes, he already had the steaks out and salted, and he was cracking eggs into a bowl.

“I want two pieces of toast,” he said without looking up. “Add however much you want, and grab whatever preserves you want from the fridge. You probably want coffee, so get that started, too.”

Had I spoken yet this morning? I wasn’t sure, so I said, “Yes, Sir.”

It felt odd, not having the waist cincher on, but the crazy thing is… having to walk on my toes helped. I mean, I hated it, and my calves were loudly protesting, but I was his slave in the kitchen this early in the day, not his submissive.

And yeah, that’s kind of how I’ve started breaking the day apart. I mind him all day, but I also have some autonomy. He respects my mind and my wants when we aren’t in high-protocol.

Being off the schedule had me completely off-kilter, but I tried hard to act as normal as possible. I put a towel across the seat of my chair because no way was I breaking the no naked cunts on the furniture rule, but I waited until he was seated and had motioned to my chair with a casual, “Permission,” before I sat.

And then tried hard not to whine, but I couldn’t stop the wince.

“Did you have any issues giving yourself the enemas yesterday?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, Sir.”

“How bad did you wish you could pull your vibrator out and use it during the process?”