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Rhys slid a hand rapidly under me, his fingers closing around the base of my skull, embedded in my hair. He lifted me, his arm beneath my back, running along my spine. At the same time, he drove deep inside me and sat back on his heels, taking me with him, lifting me like I weighed no more than a plate of food. His eyes were locked on mine, and his expression had changed. Anger boiled beneath the surface of his skin, and fear seeped out of every one of my pores.
"Is Tor your master? Is Tor who your pussy belongs to? Is Tor in command?"
I shook my head, and a tear spilled from my eye. "No," I said, quickly.
He was moving my body using his hand at the base of my skull now, lifting and pushing me, his forearm strong against my back. I succumbed completely to this, letting myself be used and manipulated, because it was easiest, and because I liked it.
And this time - because I was scared.
"You have no reason to be afraid of Tor," Rhys growled, driving his cock deep inside me. He pulled on my hair and tipped my neck to his mouth, his lips closing on my frantic carotid artery, teeth grazing my skin, liquid-cold black fear snaking into my bloodstream and making my pussy throb.
"I don't want to hear about Tor" His lips moved over my skin as he said them, tickling my neck, the glint of his teeth against my skin sending electric ripples of fear along with the pleasure. "But Iamgoing to punish you."
*
His punishment wasn't clear until later, until after he had reclaimed me and filled my pussy with his seed. I came for him, and there was no way that I could have stopped myself, because of all the men, Rhys was the one that I most wanted, that I could least control myself with.
I loved the feel of his seed exploding inside of me, even when I was worn-out and sore. I wrapped my legs around him and squeezed him tightly to me, grinding against him and making myself come after his cum made my pussy even hotter, even wetter. This was more of an instinct than anything else, and the orgasm - even though it was my third of the day - made stars float into my field of vision from the corners of my eyes.
Rhys almost always punished me by denying me this relief, or by spanking me. As he trembled with the final spurts of his seed, I wondered what he had in store for me, if maybe he had forgotten his desire to punish me? Gotten carried away by his own pleasure?
But I would learn soon enough. After filling my pussy, he rolled me over on my stomach and untied my hands. I gave him no resistance. I never resisted him anyway, but also, I knew it was futile. The sore skin on my ass began to itch with the phantom memory of the whipping I had received this morning, and I desperately wanted to touch it. I resisted the urge and balled the sheets in my fists, turning my face to the bed, expecting to have to bite the pillows or the mattress to endure the spanking I was about to receive.
Instead, I felt the anal plug being tugged, slowly pulled from inside me. I gently bit the sheets between my teeth: my whole body was sore, but my ass was especially tender after Scar. And now, Rhys had already come, just moments before. He would have to fuck me longer, rougher, to get what he wanted.
But instead of the rubbery, wet, fleshy tip of a cock against my body, I felt the coolness of metal, round and solid, pushing inside me, stretching me much more than the plug, more even than Rhys.
I made a sound, a complaint - like a mewl of pleasure but tinged with the expression of my pain. "I can't," I told him, but didn't dare squirm away. "It's too big..." but my voice trailed away, because I knew that Rhys would do whatever he wanted, and also, I knew that he wouldn't actually hurt me.
For a terrifying moment, my ass stretched wide and I thought I was going to be filled by a phallus so huge that I really wouldn't be able to walk or move, and fear gripped me tightly. But the object popped inside of me, suddenly, and the pressure on my anus was released. All the remained was a heaviness, spherical in shape, sending waves of stimulation each time I moved a muscle.
I twisted and moaned, and the object pressed against different parts of me, making me gasp.
I felt the cool metal length of it next, lying flat into the crack of my ass, running along my spine, cold enough to make goosebumps rise on my forearms. The metal aligned with spine, all the way to my neck.
Rhys slipped a collar around my neck - it wasn't the first time, so I stared at the wall to my left after he attached it, submissive, curious, ready for anything. He tugged on the object in my ass by pulling on the long handle that rolled along my spine.
When he tugged, the object pushedoutsomehow, straining against my closing ass, reviving the sharp bite of its entry, activating the heavy soreness in my bottom. My pussy welled up with juices, and began to crave his touch again.
The hook had been affixed to the collar, I could tell, because each time I moved even a little, it pulled on the object, moving it inside me, making it push out, or suck back in, massaging all the sore parts of my interior.
As he drew something through the collar, pulling it taut and attaching it to the headboard, then pulling on it again, his plan began to take shape in the sensations I was feeling. The sphere in my bottom stretched me, only slightly, pushing against me from the inside out, but also somehow driving deeper and inward.
"Oh," I whimpered, squirming suddenly. This only made it worse, especially when Rhys caught my arms and folded them against the long piece of metal on my spine, then tied them to it. He continued moving down the bed, his hands moving over my body, until he reached my ankles and pulled on them slightly.
This put pressure on the object in my ass, and as he pulled my body down to toward the foot of the bed, the countering force in his contraption built even more pressure in my ass. If I moved, or struggled, or squirmed, the reaction was immediate. The more I moved, the more the object tortured me - sweetly - but torture nonetheless.
"Rhys," I murmured desperately, as I finally worked myself into a position that gave me some stasis, a balance between the push and pull of the object. Rhys was attaching my ankles to the end of the bed, so that I was always forced to choose one direction or the other, a little forward or a little back, in order to relieve some of the pressure from the object or my own body.
A panicked murmur left my lips. "Rhys, please..." I begged him.
He placed a hand on my ass and rubbed the hot skin again, his other hand gently stroking me, calming me, forcing me to accept my predicament. I relented, tuning my head to the wall, panting, my bottom up in the air a little, my thighs aching as I tried to keep myself in the perfect state, where the ball inside me was not being tugged down against my anus.
Rhys played with my hair, watching me. He liked when I became like this: quiet, fully submissive, fully under his control. His fingers dropped to my spine, then casually traced over my ass, down to my inner thighs, behind my knees.
Each sensitive place he touched sent a shiver through me, and when my body moved, I understood his diabolical plan: any movement, any way that my body responded, would cause the ball inside me to feel like it was pushing out; but it could not, because of its design.
It was a trap; the harder I fought against it, the more it punished me with a dull, delicious, but unbearable ache and pressure inside.
