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The Debt of Hate

Page 30

by A.B. Julian

He smiled. “Get on the couch. Head down, ass up!” he commanded.

My body trembled, still locked in the restraints, my feet cramping slightly inside my leather boots. I struggled to maneuver onto the cushions, pressing my face down. I pulled my legs onto the couch, keeping my ass high, open, and desperately waiting like a whore, as if I hadn’t just come a second ago.

He rubbed his hand gently against my stinging skin, his fingers wet as they finally breached my entrance. My aching length sprang up, too excited to be taken.

“Ummh,” I moaned when I felt the heavy weight of his thick cock rubbing between my crack. Then I felt the delicious head rubbing, soothing my aching hole, breaching the first ring of muscle. George didn’t ease in slowly.

With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside me. The stretch was punishing, burning, overwhelmingly perfect. I cried out, my fists clenching against the fabric as he bottomed out, his hips flush against my reddened cheeks.

“Fuck. So tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave fresh marks. “This hole was made for my cock.”

He gave me almost no time to adjust before he started fucking me with hard, deep, punishing strokes that slammed into me with wet, filthy sounds. Every thrust drove my cock against the leather, teasing me mercilessly. The angle was brutal, hitting my prostate with every snap of his hips.

George leaned over me, one hand fisting my hair and yanking my head back so he could growl directly into my ear.

“You’re mine now. This ass. This throat. This cock. All of it belongs to me. Say it.”

“I’m yours, Sir,” I sobbed, my voice breaking completely as he fucked me even harder.

He reached around and finally wrapped his big hand around my aching cock, stroking me in perfect time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much to bear. I was shaking, completely overwhelmed, riding right on the razor’s edge.

“Don’t you dare come yet,” he snarled, tightening his grip on my shaft. “You come when I say. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Fuck, please.”

He pounded into me relentlessly, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the small room. My hole was stretched wide around his thick shaft, taking every brutal inch. Sweat slicked both our bodies. I was a complete mess, crying, moaning, and begging, utterly lost in the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

George’s rhythm faltered as he approached the edge.

“You’re going to come with my cock buried deep inside you,” he commanded, stroking my shaft faster. “Now. Come for me, baby.”

The order pushed me over. I came with a broken cry, my cock pulsing hard as I spilled over his fist and onto the couch. My hole clenched rhythmically around him, milking his length. With a deep, animalistic groan, George slammed in one final time and came, flooding my insides with hot, thick cum.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the cabin were our ragged breaths. George stayed buried deep inside me, grinding lazily as he emptied the last of his release. Then he pulled out slowly, a low groan escaping him as he watched his cum leak from my wrecked, puffy hole.

He gathered me into his strong arms without a word, lifting my limp, trembling body off the couch as if I weighed absolutely nothing. My white shirt hung wide open, my trousers were still bunched around my knees, and my expensive boots dragged slightly against the hardwood as he carried me through the narrow doorway at the back of the cabin.

The sleeping quarter was small but surprisingly luxurious—a wide berth bed with dark sheets, soft lighting, and the gentle rock of the boat beneath us. George laid me down carefully on my stomach, mindful of my bound arms. He unclipped the cotton rope connecting my wrists to the collar but left the leather collar and cuffs on.

“Stay just like this for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough but impossibly gentle. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth, a bottle of soothing lotion, and a fresh glass of water.

He started with my ass, wiping away the mess of cum and sweat with slow, tender strokes. The cool cloth against my burning, marked skin made me hiss out loud, but his free hand immediately rubbed soothing circles over my lower back to anchor me.

“Easy... I know it stings. You took everything so beautifully, Sig.” His praise settled warmly in my chest as he worked. He inspected every stripe from the crop and the flogger, tracing the blooming bruises with careful, protective fingers. “These are going to be gorgeous tomorrow. Every time you sit down in that fancy suit, you’ll remember exactly who owns this ass.”

“Hhhh,” I whimpered softly into the pillow, my cock twitching weakly despite how completely spent I was.

Once he’d cleaned me, George warmed some lotion between his big palms and began massaging it into my inflamed cheeks and thighs. His touch was firm but reverent, working the cream deep into the muscle to ease the ache. Every pass of his hands felt like worship. He moved up to my back and shoulders, kneading away the lingering tension from the ropes and the intense arching.

When he was satisfied, he helped me roll onto my side and finally removed the ankle cuffs, then the wrist cuffs. He left the heavy black collar in place, the silver D-ring resting cool against my sternum. He unbuttoned the rest of my rumpled white shirt and peeled it off, along with my trousers, leaving me in nothing but the collar and my polished boots.

George smiled faintly at the sight. “You look good like this, marked up and wearing my collar.” He reached down and tugged the boots off gently, setting them neatly beside the bed before stripping off his own sweatpants and climbing into the berth behind me.

He pulled me back against his broad chest, one thick arm wrapped possessively around my waist, his other hand gently stroking my dark hair. The heat of his body enveloped me, grounding my consciousness as the boat rocked softly beneath us.

“Drink,” he ordered quietly, holding the glass of water to my lips. I sipped obediently, then sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of my neck, right above the leather band.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice low.