“Already tender from your little leaf lingerie,” he said, voice too calm to be comforting. “Let’s see how desperate I can make you before you beg.”
Each pump made her thighs twitch. Made her cunt clench. Made her nipples sting harder.
And made her clit grow impossibly large.
He reached between her legs and tested the pressure with his fingers, released the device, removed it, and dragged the pad of his thumb over the suction-swollen bud.
She nearly climaxed from the friction alone.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “You come without permission, I’ll make you piss in a bottle and then drink every last drop, and we’ll keep it up, every time you piss until you’ve had twelve ounces drain down your gullet.”
She whimpered, shame clawing its way through the pain because her cunt clenched at the words, traitorous, as if it wanted every threat he promised — dragging her back to the damned primordial mud again.
He rubbed again, just shy of cruel. Enough to keep her right at the edge.
“I want you trembling. Right there. Too swollen to think, and too desperate to smart off. You’ll stay there for me, won’t you?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“I believe you.”
He put the pump back on. Squeezed it all over again while he watched her squirm, his gaze cool, clinical, like a sociopath watching a moth struggle after ripping its wings off.
A flick of the wrist. Another squeeze.
“Because I’ll make sure you do.”
And another. Her pain fed his rhythm.
She whimpered as he pumped again, harder this time, her clit bulging against the glass. The suction gripped her flesh like a vice, and the ache burned hotter with every heartbeat. It felt like her clit would split down the middle, like the blood swelling inside it might rupture her.
Each pump ratcheted the pressure tighter. Her cunt clenched, nerves stretched to their breaking point. Her thighs shook, but she couldn’t move, couldn’tthink.
“Good,” Silas murmured, almost to himself. “Now we’re cooking.”
She couldn’t stay still. Her hips jerked, rocked instinctively, desperate for friction, foranything, and he chuckled as he trailed his fingertips across her stomach, down her pelvis, and finally between her legs, massaging around her clit without touching it.
Gloved fingers this time. Mustn’t touch the fucktoy’s toxic privates with bare hands.
He tapped the pump with a cruel nudge, making it jostle, then plunged two fingers into her.
Her head slammed back on the tub’s edge, mouth open in a strangled sob.
Even underwater, her cunt was slick enough to welcome him in — from need, shame, from raw nerve endings fighting the war between pain and pleasure.
“Soaking. Of course you are.” His voice was low, with that same quiet cruelty he used when he was enjoying himself.
His fingers curved deep, rubbed the spot he knew too well. The pleasure knifed through her, sharp and jagged under the ache of the suction. She was shaking, gasping, held in place by pressure and need.
His fingers moved slowly at first, curling deep, deliberate, concentrating on the sweet spot and pressing until her breathing was ragged, until her swollen clit throbbed under the pump with every heartbeat. She was on the edge ofeverything.
And he held her there.
“You feel how open you are right now?” he asked quietly. “Your body begging for it? This is what obedience feels like. Soft. Accessible. This is how a good little fuckhole opens for its owner.No tension. No resistance. Just meat, accepting whatever gets inserted.”
She sobbed as he kept his hand moving, his fingers pressing against the front wall, keeping her arousal high but just out of reach. Every nerve in her lower body was millimeters from short-circuiting into a conflagration.
“You think you’re close now?” he asked. “This isn’t close. Not quite yet.”
