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Rhys moved his fingers to my pussy, and played idly with the folds, then began to stroke my clit. I mewled, and his plan became crystal-clear: this would be my punishment. This contraption, which would require me to hold perfectly still and not move even a muscle inside my body, while Rhys used his practiced fingers to play with my pussy and maybe even bring me to orgasm.
He stroked me; I squirmed, and he smiled down at me as I howled into the bedsheets and settled back down. And then his games began in earnest.
*
Rhys brought me easily to the point of orgasm, and then he withdrew his hand. And left me, enduring that need, on the bed, while he went to his desk and sat down at it.
He did this again and again, sometimes even leaving the room, while I suffered on the bed, unable to squirm, unable to roll my hips to stimulate myself, trapped with this dull ache of pleasure, and the raging desire to come. I couldn’t sleep, because my body craved release so badly that it couldn’t rest. Trying to concentrate on any thought but the strenuous thought of not moving, not making my torture more pleasurable and therefore more agonizing, was impossible.
He left for a very long time, and when he came back, I started sobbing into the sheets. I was so tired, all I wanted was to sleep, after he allowed me the pleasure of coming. The relief.
“Please,” I begged him, my face on the bed, tears spilling into the sheets. “I can’t… I can’t take any more.”
“No,” he said, sitting next to me, placing a hand on my bottom, running it over my scorched skin. I mewled and twisted, then howled, and he let me writhe beneath the palm of his hand, holding it steady, my own body moving beneath him so that it became a caress. “You seem like you can’t.”
I sobbed again. “Please,” I begged him.
“Do you want me to pull this,” he tugged gently on the long handle of the hook, and I howled in pleasurable pain as it stretched against me, “from inside you, and then...” he moved his fingers to my pussy, and my whole body jerked when he touched me. I cried into the sheets when he stopped, just short of making me come, and let me writhe while he stroked my ass.
“Tell me what Tor does to you, Alena, and I will.”
“Ican’t,” I whimpered. My eyes filled with tears.
“Do youwantto be disobedient?” Rhys asked, laying his hand heavily on my ass. My skin burned, and he moved his pointer finger lightly over a slight welt, making me wriggle and the anal contraption stretch me.
“Please, Rhys, no,” I sobbed.
“Then tell me.”
I turned my head to stare at the wall, feeling much like I did after being spanked in the punishment ritual. I had no choice but to submit: I let my limbs relax and I gave in, my eyes going glazed and distant.
Rhys’s hand moved over my bottom, his fingers dipping to my sore and stretched anus. “That’s it. Good girl. Now tell me. Or you will lie here again for even longer.”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t endure much more of this, even if it meant that I would endure much more from Tor, later. And the feeling of utter submission that I got from the punishment ritual, that consumed me when I was around Rhys, had dominated even my fear.
“He just...” I said, and my voice caught in my throat again. “He forces me to come, I don’t want to -”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Rhys growled, and his fingers squeezed my buttocks. “Why do youfearhim? What does he tell you?”
I hesitated, and Rhys tugged on the plug, making me mewl.
“He says that you will discard me one day,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “And so will the others, and then I’ll belong to him, and so... I have to please him.”
My heart fluttered with uncertainty and fear.
I shouldn’t have said all of that: I knew it as soon as I did.
“Please,” I whispered, frantic. “He will be… so cruel to me. I don’t want to...” I was searching for a word, unable to keep track of what I was saying, trying not to move too much, overwhelmed by my feelings.
And just like that, Rhys loosened the collar and the restraints, and gently pulled the large ball from inside me. I whimpered, and he stroked my lower back, then rolled me over, looking down at me with an expression that I had never seen before.
“Tor is not who you obey,” he growled.
And then, abruptly, he threw the covers over me and stood up. Tendons vibrated on his clenched jaw, and his heartbeat pulsed in the muscled hollow of his collarbone.
Fear poured into my veins.
But he stared at me with the same look in his eyes that I had seen in Tor’s, and then, shocking me: he turned abruptly and went into his adjacent bathroom. When he came out, he was clothed, and he left the room without looking at me or turning his head to bark:
