Honored them with care.
“You’re my good girl,” he said quietly. “The best little tongue whore ever, not because of your skill, but because of your enthusiasm no matter how much you hate it.” He sat back. “You fucked up, you suffered, and you learned. You’re still mine. Still ours.” Another kiss to her temple. “You’ll earn another orgasm from me eventually.”
Her face flamed red, shame curled hot in her gut while pride twisted in her heart. Her psyche struggled to sort her reaction tohis crude words, but her brain knew the only answer she could give was a whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
He gave her a gentle smile and said, “Good. Soak another five minutes, then I’ll take you to bed.”
To sleep, hopefully, but Boone would be there, and she figured they had a plan. She didn’t really expect an answer but she dared to say, “And you’ll…”
He smirked. “My balls need draining, but my dick’s not going in your ruined holes until we’re sure all the nettles are gone. Mouth’s still functional though, and you can’t smart off with a dick in it. Boone’s already in bed, not sure what he wants.”
She sagged. Grateful. Broken. Loved. Owned.
So very, very owned.
Silas dried her with the same calm thoroughness he applied to everything. No rush. No softness. Just efficiency. She gasped and yelped when he rubbed over the hurty places, but stood with her arms limp at her sides.
Her clit still throbbed, swollen and sore, the skin so tight she could feel each heartbeat like a pulse in her bones, every nerve lit and raw. Her pussy pulsed with the same rhythm. Her thighs trembled from strain.
When he finished, he tossed the towel in a separate bin.
“Come, single-use fuckhole.”
The words arrowed through her and landed in her gut, but her feet moved anyway, carrying her forward on shaky legs, through the doorway and to her medallion.
Boone was stretched out on the bed, naked, hair damp from his own shower. His eyes tracked her as she entered. Cool. Assessing.
She stood in inspection pose on the medallion and waited, every inch of her body throbbing. And yet, it wasn’t as bad as it’d been before the bath.
Silas stripped his wet pants off, tossed them into her bathroom, climbed onto the bed naked, and studied her a good fifteen seconds before saying, “Permission to enter the bed and kneel between Boone’s thighs.”
When she was in place, Silas’s hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and he said, “Open your only available fuckhole.”
She opened.
He shoved her forward, hard — no time to adjust, no time for her jaw to get used to him. Boone’s dick filled her mouth in one long, brutal thrust. She gagged, choked, fought not to panic, and then Silas pulled her back just enough to let her inhale.
“Look at me,” Boone said.
She forced her eyes up, and humiliation roared through her like fire. Her cunt clenched with heat and ache and shame.
“Thisis what your mouth is for.”
His hands came around her head, holding her in place. Silas let go and shifted back, letting Boone guide her with slow, punishing control — down, down, until her nose brushed coarse pubic hair and her throat was stretched around him.
He held her there, and she did her best to swallow around his huge girth stretching her insides, tears pricking her eyes, face burning with shame.
Silas leaned in close to her ear, voice smooth. “That mouth is for serving. Not snapping.”
Boone groaned. “We all know I prefer your throat to your tongue.”
He fucked her slow, pinned between his thighs, his hand at the back of her head — claiming her like a fleshlight built for obedience, every thrust grinding the humiliation deeper. Her swollen clit sparked with every movement, raw nerves catching fire.
Silas’s fingers stroked down her spine, reminding her they owned her. Every inch.
When Boone pulled her mouth off of his wet, glistening cock, there was no reprieve.
“Silas,” he said.
