She groaned, gasped, her whole body tightening, shoulders burning from the suspension.
The stretch was brutal. Her ass resisted and then gave way, and then—
Fire and ice.
It wasn’t just the stretch. It wassharp. Cold. Not like ice cream cold, like dry ice. Like peppermint pine needles stabbing her from the inside out. Winter wind buried deep in her ass.
She tried to scream, but her breath caught. Her spine arched, toes curling midair.
The plug seated. Locked in place, and her asshole spasmed around it, uselessly trying to expel the burning cold.
“That’s Siberian fir,” Kenny said, stepping in front of her with a tiny square of gauze between his fingers. “We’re going for a Christmas theme. This one’s soaked in clove oil.”
He smiled, all controlled calm because no one was threateninghisprivates with damned clove oil.
“We want to make sure you remember the lesson,” he said. “Hold still, little toy.”
She didn’t dare move.
He reached between her legs, lifted her clit hood with fingers as gentle as they were unyielding, and pressed the gauze in.
All the way inside, nestled right up against her clit, using careful fingers to wrap it all around the little bundle of nerves before he carefully settled the hood back around it.
And the burn began.
Not a scream like the fir, but a smolder that seeped into her and wrapped her in heat. Every pulse of her blood drove the oil deeper, coating nerve endings and settling in like a sadist setting up camp inside her skin.
And her cuntachedwith need. Hot and empty. Desperate, frictionless hunger. A signal flare of want they could read with a single sniff, as if her pussy was begging to be punished.
Shame bloomed hot in her chest because her body craved it — burned for it, even as her mind begged for mercy.
Which is when Silas stepped in and fucking grinned.
“You don’t think we’d forget the cunt itself, do you?”
He held up another plug. Thicker than the one in her ass, swirled with something dark and red, and she recognized the scent before he had to tell her.
Cinnamon. Not the sugary kind in cookies, the essential oil kind that burns like fuck.
“Cassia for your cunt,” Silas said. “Stronger than cinnamon.” His eyes narrowed. Voice dropped. “A useless whore who can’t properly pleasure her men deserves to hurt. To haveallher holes plugged.”
He reached towards her pussy and she hopelessly tried to twist away. “No, please!”
He shoved the plug inside her cunt like he was claiming a prize, and her scream came high and raw when it seated.
And then—
Agony.
The burn exploded outward, a wildfire ripping through her insides, savaging her opening, her lips. It felt like boiling brandy, and it stole her breath.
The clove on her clit pulsed harder now, the cinnamon echoing it, and on the other side, the Siberian fir sent icy spears upward from her ass like jagged icicles punching through muscle and nerve.
Three flames.
Three brands.
Each unique, and all of them overlapping, clashing and harmonizing in a symphony of unrelenting pain.
