She saw the strap in Kenny’s hand. Narrow now. Flexible.
The first stroke came up between her thighs with pinpoint accuracy.
Directly to her clit.
She arched and screamed without sound, the clove and cinnamon flaring tolife, meeting leather and pressure and werewolf strength.
The second strike came barely five seconds later.
Harder.
A final blow that pulsed through her whole fucking body like the world itself had narrowed to that single point of pain.
She sobbed and collapsed into the restraints, her mind empty and breath ragged.
And yet, underneath the pain, the obedience remained. The surrender. The understanding.
They were training her into a well-trained fucktoy who can manage three cocks at once, rather than just lay there and be fucked. And being remade involves being broken down.
These were consequences, not punishment. Pain given for a reason, rather than cruelty for cruelty’s sake.
It was love expressed in pain and ownership. Correction, because her owners deserved a fucktoy who could take three men at once and do it right. Because she’d asked for this life, and they were shaping her into someone worthy of it.
The strap still hung from Kenny’s hand, glistening faintly. She stared at it, breath hitching, shoulders on fire, cunt throbbing, clit an open wound.
But she knew the truth. Knew it in the marrow of her bones — they loved her enough to demand better.
Kenny reached for her gag.
Her lips trembled around it, and when he pulled it from her mouth, her first words were broken, hoarse, choked with tears.
“Thank you, Sir. Thank you all…” a sob broke through, but she continued, “for loving me enough to correct me.”
Silas stepped in and unfastened the spreader bar from her ankles. He didn’t say anything, just met her gaze and gave her a quick nod.
Boone’s massive hands cradled her hips, then her ribs, lifting her gently, an arm under her legs and another holding her back, cradling her to his chest.
Her arms ached with every shift, but the searing pressure across her shoulders eased as soon as they were no longer bearing her weight.
Kenny moved to release the cuffs, unbuckled the leather, and slowly lowered her arms.
She curled inward, and Boone’s warmth wrapped around her. His heart beat heavy against her cheek, slower than hers, steady.
Silas pulled one leg out a little and tugged the gauze from under her clit hood. Kenny removed the plugs, moving slow, careful not to jostle her too much. She hissed with every shift, her body so raw, so exposed.
She was nestled between them under the sheets within minutes — Boone to one side, Silas the other. Kenny turned the light out on his way out of the room.
But no one wiped anything away. The oils were still there, and the burn still raged.
Horror hit in a fresh wave of realization — she was going to sleep this way. Burning and sore. No relief.
Her eyes welled again, a fresh burst of tears streaking down her cheeks. “Oh God,” she whispered, broken. “It still hurts so bad…”
Boone held her tighter, hand stroking her back, and he kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got you, little hawk. I know it hurts. Let it out.”
She shook in his arms.
But then Silas spoke from behind her. Voice cold and detached. Laced with mockery. “Fitting, don’t you think? Ruined holes for a lazy-assed whore. That fire between your legs is going to burn you all motherfucking night while you marinate in shame and pain like the needy little fucktoy you are, and maybenext time your brain will stay focused instead of getting lost in cock.”
