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A strong arm pulls me back to him, his hand closing around my throat as he holds me in place. He breathes out hard against the top of my head, as if he’s the one being pushed to his limit.
The rhythm becomes relentless. He thrusts the toy into me harder, faster, until pain gathers in one bright, unbearable point.
The worst part is how much I’m starting to love it.
I love that it hurts. That he’s forcing me to take it.
Tears slip down my face.
I twist helplessly, my movements frantic and pointless. No matter how I turn, his hand follows, keeping the toy moving inside me. My cries come out thinner as he squeezes my neck.
“I know, honey. I know,” he coos against my ear. “This needs to hurt.”
My pussy throbs deeply from the sweetness in his voice mixing with the roughness of his actions.
There is no relief, only escalation, pushing me towards a breaking point I don’t have words for. The ruthless friction doesn’t stop. My asshole feels like it’s on fire. I can’t draw enough breath to scream, but a constant broken sound escapes me.
When I shift, I feel how wet I am.
The shame hits harder than the pain ever could. I hate that my body answers him when my mind resists. And yet heat stirs beneath the humiliation.
The way he controls every reaction and dictates even my defiance feels like being stripped bare and studied at once, erased and made visible in the same breath.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
The words catch in my throat. I can’t speak them. I won’t say out loud how I want to feel his cock in my asshole. That’s too much. Too filthy.
I shake my head weakly, biting my lip to hold back a sob, clinging to the last scraps of my dignity.
He doesn’t stop.
He drives the plug into me faster, holding me by the neck, forcing me towards a breaking point I can’t outrun. When I finally cry out, it tears from me raw and ragged.
“What should I be doing to you, Zaiya? How do you want to be fucked?”
I keep my mouth shut. Silence has always been my safest refuge. If this is meant to be my punishment, then let him choose it himself. I won’t stop him.
He laughs softly. “Shy little girl still not talking, huh?”
His hand leaves my throat, and I drag in a breath. Then he reaches between my legs and pulls his fingers through my wetness, holding them up so I can see them glisten in the low light, completely coated.
I turn my face away.
“You need me to decide for you?”
He yanks the plug from my ass. I cry out at the pain, relief and longing tangled together. Empty and desperate to be filled again.
My wrists remain bound as he lowers the rope and uses it to pull me forward to a long black table with a padded top and rings attached all around its edges. He bends me over it and ties my arms across the far side. Then he kicks my feet apart so I’m spread for him.
“Do you deserve lube?” he asks casually.
Fear cuts through me. My lips part, then close again. Saying yes feels wrong, but needing it feels worse.
He answers my silence by pressing the tip of his dry cock against my ass, forcing me open a little. Pain flashes white all the way through me, and I scream. The force of it could rip me apart.
Asking for what I need never came easily to me. I’ve been taught that endurance is a virtue, that staying quiet is easier than risking what happens when I speak.
But silence won’t give me what I need. If I want him to listen, I have to give him the words.
