She jerked at the first thrust, the violation of it, the awful inevitability of being held open and taken over and over by a machine that didn’t care whether she screamed or begged. It wasn’t fast enough to push her over, only enough to torment her, to keep her body on the edge of wanting while her mind tried not to shatter.
Then he climbed on the table and knelt in front of her.
“You’re going to suck me off while that machine fucks your cunt,” he said, voice cold and low. “I want soft lips. Wet tongue. Random between licking and sucking, with an occasional trip down your throat, and I mean all the fucking way, but not often enough it’s expected. Make it random.”
She opened her mouth, took him in. Did her best.
But the machine thrust again, hard, and her hips bucked, jaw jolting sideways. She tried to stay focused, to use her tongue just right, tried to—
“You call that sensual?” he snapped. “You look like a bobblehead doll on a broken spring.”
Shame boiled under her skin, hot and thick. She whimpered around his cock.
“No, no, keep going,” he sneered. “I want to see just how bad you are at this.”
She swallowed him again, cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling, but the moment she found a rhythm, the machine rammed deep and her body convulsed, breaking everything.
She gagged. Coughed. Lost him again.
He yanked her hair hard enough to hurt. “Pathetic. You can’t even suck cock while getting fucked by a machine. Whatcanyou do?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she gasped, spit smeared across her chin, her pride in tatters.
“You should be.”
He didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back or soften. He barked orders, gave her cruel commands — slow here, swirl there, now shove it deep like you mean it. And every time she got close to doing it right, the machine fucked her just wrong enough to ruin it.
She wasn’t a woman anymore. Just a body. Holes. A disobedient little failure in restraints, a filthy, broken fucktoy trying and failing to serve.
He sighed, climbed off the table, turned off the machine, unstrapped her limbs, and walked away without a word.
She pulled herself off the machine with relief. Her jaw ached from strain, her cunt pulsed, clenching around nothing, her need so sharp it felt like hunger, but she followed him on shaking limbs, naked and humiliated, around the fucking bench.
And saw what waited for her next.
A massive dildo mounted to the floor, thick as a mason jar, grotesquely long, obscene. Wider than Boone. Her breath caught. Her belly clenched in dread.
“Floor, bitch. Straddle it like you’re riding a cock. You know how to do that at least, don’t you?”
She stared at him — eyes wide, throat working — but didn’t speak.
“You have three minutes. If you can get yourself off in that time, and if you beg pretty enough for an orgasm, you can come. If not?” He shrugged. “We’ll try again in two days.”
Her legs moved before her mind caught up. She stepped over it, knees already shaking, lowered herself like a whore on display, her cunt aching from the earlier machine. Still raw. Still throbbing.
It didn’t even fit at first. The stretch was monstrous. Inhuman. Her body screamed.
But her need was louder than her pride, so she tried.
And Silas stood four feet away, arms folded, watching with cold detachment as she lowered herself again… and again… and again.
“I won’t give permission for the orgasm if you don’t make it all the way down.”
The words snapped through her like a whip. She flinched and then forced her body lower.
It was mounted on a rounded base, high enough she could sit all the way down if she could just open far enough, take it deep enough, but it was too wide. Too long. Her pussy spasmed with resistance, trying to reject it.
Her hips fought to stop her descent. Her inner muscles rebelled against the invasion.
