Page 21 of Magnum, Volume 2

He grinned. “Careful of the plug.”

It wasn’t a question, so I had to be quiet. Probably wouldn’t be good to call him a sadistic smart-ass in that moment.

The very second I drank the final drops of my tea, he said, “Get your ass upstairs to the bedroom, slave. You may use the toilet if you need to, and then wait for me in wall pose.”

I looked at my glass, wondering if I should put it in the dishwasher before I followed his orders, but then stood and left it. If he’d wanted me to clean up, he’d have said so.

My shaky legs protested the stairs, and every step shifted the heavy plug and sent a fresh burn through the ring of muscle stretched tight around it — but it was still foreplay for what came next, and my clit throbbed with need.

I sat carefully in the bathroom, but the burn when I peed made me suck in a sharp breath and blink hard. I patted myself dry because no way in fuck was I rubbing myself when I was already raw.

While I washed my hands, I stared at my tear-streaked face in the mirror a few seconds, but I didn’t want to be dawdling when he came up, so I stepped into my bedroom, placed my hands against the wall at head height, and then walked my feet backward until my back was arched, my ass was high, and I felt the pose all the way from my toes to my fingertips.

Wall pose.

The familiar position settled me. We were back on the routine, which should mean no more surprises. It was comforting, knowing what was coming. What was expected of me.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes again, but these were different. This was our last night for a while. The last time he’d pound me through the mattress — for who knew how many weeks.

I shoved the dark thoughts down and focused on the stretch in my shoulders, the constant pressure of the plug, the way I had to fight to breathe around the cincher.

I could be sad later. Right now, I only wanted to feel him.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs, then moving into the room.

“On the bed, slave.”

While he undressed, I folded the blanket and sheet down, then climbed on and lay on my back — legs lifted and open, offering myself to him.

He planted a knee on the mattress, leaned down, and gave my slit a few slow, thorough licks that made my hips twitch. Ten seconds at most, then he was over me, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, and he drove in.

I was already so sore from being fucked over the island, and then he’d been so rough with his fingers while I was over his lap.

The fresh stretch and vicious friction tore broken sounds out of me from the start, and tears spilled sideways into my hair.

But Magnum never worried about my tears while he used me, and as always, they seemed to drive him to pound into me harder. Faster.

He hammered into me over and over. Rhythmic, powerful strokes that forced every textured ridge over raw tissue. The cincher held me so tight I could barely breathe. The heels trapped my feet into the shape he wanted them, even in the air. The plug made every thrust a dual invasion, yanking and moving it with every violent shove.

Despite my tears, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. It’s who we are. It’s how he sates his needs — using my body, driving into me however he needs to get off, indifferent to whether I can take it or not.

And clearly, my body can handle it, whether I think I can or not.

But on this night, he slowed partway through.

It wasn’t mercy. Magnum has never offered mercy. No, this was as if he wanted to savor exactly how much he was hurting me.

He moved with the same brutal power, but unbearably slow. Still far beyond forceful, so he went deep and stayed there a few seconds before withdrawing and doing it again — fucking me in slow motion, but somehow still pitiless and harsh despite moving like a damned turtle, so fucking deliberate and calculated.

Each drive bored impossibly deep, and he ordered me to look him in the eyes while he held there a heartbeat before scraping rough, grating cock back over my already abused flesh on the way out, and then back in.

He leaned down until our foreheads touched, breath mingling, and somehow I think this gave him even more leverage to drive into me in slow-motion.

It wasn’t gentle, not even close, but it was intimate in a way the usual pounding could never be.

The intensity of it, the way he focused on my face while he filled me over and over, cracked so many emotions loose, I felt them in my chest, in my throat. My tears were as much about the intimacy as the pain of his cock spreading me wide and scraping me raw.

The tears kept falling, but I didn’t try to stop them. I hid nothing from him.