When the food was gone, he got back to work and she put everything away, set the bag off to the side, retrieved the glass cleaner and paper towels from the cabinet, and cleaned the marks of her body from his desk.
He was on the phone when she left, but it didn’t matter. He’d dismissed her as soon as the food was gone.
During her personal time, she made lists of what needed packing, what she needed to do when she arrived in Birmingham, checked over her assignment, and who she’d report to at the hospital. She found a building map online and refamiliarized herself with the layout, how to get from the ER to the various areas with food, and looked over the menus.
And then set the alarm on her phone to warn her when her personal time ended, and read a little of the murder mystery she’d started the day before.
Silas came home around four, drove into her ass with the same ruthless efficiency he’d used that morning, made her take every inch while her body screamed, shoved the plug back in like sealing a container, and then helped with dinner.
He’d brought ten pounds of smoked brisket home from work, so it was just a matter of making the roasted potatoes, cooking the greens, and cutting the bread she’d made that morning.
The other men arrived. Boone had her bend over so he could remove the plug and egg — neither extraction gentle, but the sheer relief of being emptied nearly buckled her knees. Her body clenched on instinct, aching from overuse, but grateful to breathe again. He gave no acknowledgment, just headed upstairs for his shower.
When Kenny stepped in the door, she followed him upstairs for her twenty minutes of orgasm training, her body already tight with unsatisfied need after days of denial, her cunt raw with want and still faintly burning from the capsaicin.
He clipped her ankles and wrists to the training bench, the wand in its holder six inches away from her clit so he could grab it and use it without pause.
And then his oh-so-skilled fingers inside her, working her. Devastating her from the start.
He’d let her see the clock for a while after negotiations, but it was behind her now. She had no idea how long she lasted. Itfeltlike forever. But maybe it had only been minutes. All she knew was that her pussy clenched, the orgasm surged— and the damned wand was pressed hard to her clit, killing the first spasm and dragging it into hell.
As usual, her screams filled the air because this month, he held it for nine seconds.
Next month would be ten.
“You’re getting there, little fucktoy,” he said, when the wand was back in its holster, his fingers pressing back into her.
Some days, she only felt the wand once during a session, but this time she just couldn’t hold her orgasms back despite the fact she knew Kenny would shock the fuck out of her clit before she managed to find more than a second of pleasure.
And worse? His fingers only went back into her for seventeen damned seconds after the last shock. She’d beensoclose.
Kenny walked to the horror of a fucking station, and adjusted the hip bar first, shifting the metal crosspiece to a higher peg on the vertical supports, then moved the block color-coded for him beneath the bar. When she stepped onto it and leaned forward, she’d be the exact right height for him to shove his dick into her holes.
The station was built for this. A steel frame with two crosspieces, one to support her hips, the other several feet forward, far enough out she had to stretch to reach it. The whole thing was engineered to lock her in place at the perfect angle, to present her holes at just the right height for all three men.
She stepped onto the block without being told, bent at the waist, leaned forward, and stretched her spine and shoulders to grab the forward bar.
And then, without ceremony and very little lube, Kenny fucked her ass yet again, making itfourtimes in one day.
Her body clenched on instinct, but there was no give left, just ache stacked on ache, raw stretch layered over burning flesh.
He drove into her with measured force, each thrust pushing her forward against the bar, pressure blooming deep and sharp through muscles already wrecked. Her knees trembled on the block, the stretch unforgiving, the plug’s earlier seal now nothing but a memory.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. Just used her.
Because that was the purpose of this setup — to position her holes like access points. To make her take what they gave, over and over, until even her pain was numb.
When he came, he pulled out without a word, and a heavy, stainless plug went in this time.
And then it was time for everyone to sit down and eat.
It seemed so normal, the four of them at the table, sharing brisket, potatoes. Pack talk, easy laughter. A home. A family meal.
But her ass burned with every shift in her chair, and the weighted plug turned the illusion on its head. She had to clench hard every time she stood to refill glasses, her whole body tense from the fight to keep it inside her, every step sending another reminder that she wasn’t just part of this home — she was an owned possession, kept for their pleasure and convenience.
A treasured possession, but that didn’t make her any less owned. Or used.
She heard more about how Kenny and Boone resolved the morning’s issue, heard about the server and busboy at Silas’s restaurant who’d been dating hot and heavy and were now broken up, and how badly he wished he could yank them both up and spank their asses. The talk was light, domestic even, but for her it threaded around the ache in her ass and the strain of holding the plug.
