Then, with a grunt of effort Silas pushes, and the head of his cock presses against the stretched entrance alongside Charles’s shaft.
Grace cries out, a sharp, shocked sound of overwhelming pressure. “No. No. No. It’s too much. It’s…”
“It’s exactly enough,” I correct her firmly, stepping up between the two men to stroke her hair.
“Please, I can’t, Master, please…” She sobs, “It’s tearing me, it’s…”
“Breathe through it. Give yourself over to the feeling and just relax.” I murmur, knowing she can do this. That I’ve trained her, stretched her, forced her body to take far bigger.
The men find a rhythm, a synchronized, brutal pistoning that makes her whole body shake. She is gasping, her eyes streaming as she continues to fight this.
“I want her arse.” Viktor shouts, not to be left out.
The other men groan, both in sympathy and anticipation. They manoeuvre her, a well-trained team now, forcing her unwilling body onto her side, bending her into another impossible angle. Viktor spits into his hand, lubricating himself before he slaps her arse cheek.
He pushes, and Grace screams; a raw, ragged sound as he impales her.
She is now utterly filled, a beautiful, writhing creature being used in every hole. She is gasping, begging wordlessly, her eyes never leaving mine for a second.
God, she’s so beautiful.
I reach down to the small, discreet remote in my pocket, pressing the button. Her entire body convulses as a long, drawn-out wail of pure, unadulterated and forced ecstasy tears from her throat. The men laugh, their thrusts becoming more frantic in response to the way her insides are clearly gripping them.
“Look at this fat, greedy little slut.” Charles grunts.
“She can’t get enough.” Silas agrees.
She comes again and again, as I demand one orgasm after another from her exhausted body.
She is drooling, her eyes rolled back in her head. She is nothing but a vessel for pleasure and use. I watch, mesmerized as my pet shatters completely.
The men follow soon after, roaring their releases as they fill her, one after the other.
When they finally pull out, Grace collapses onto the soiled bench, a broken, panting mess.
The men are laughing, congratulating each other like they earned this moment and that it was not in fact a gift bestowed on them by me.
“Antonio,” Konstantine says, and I realise he is no longer sitting in that chair. He is standing, examining Grace. “You were right, you have trained her exquisitely. She is the perfect pet.”
I smile, a genuine, triumphant smile. “Thank you, Grand Master. She is a good little bitch now.”
The other men grunt along, putting themselves back together, and without the need for me to say it, they all take their leave.
The room is silent now save for Grace’s ragged, exhausted pants.
I walk over to her and kneel beside the bench. I crawl over her sweaty, trembling body, my movements slow and deliberate.
Bit by bit I begin to lick her clean. Starting with her face, tasting the salt of her tears and the bitter tang of Silas’s come. I move down her neck, to her breasts, worshipping every curve, cleansing her with my tongue.
“You did so well, Dumpling,” I whisper against her skin. “So, so well. You are so good at taking cocks for me. My perfect, filthy little pet.”
She sobs, a shuddering, full-body thing but when I look at her face, she turns herself away like she is ashamed.
“No.” I snarl. “You do not do that, you do not feel that. There is no shame in being used as you have been. There is no shame in being what I need of you.”
She whimpers, torn between some delusional feeling of morality and some newer need to please me.
I continue my ministrations, cleaning the mess from her stomach, her thighs, even the piss from her legs. It is an act of reclamation. They may have used her, defiled her, but I am marking her again as mine. Purifying her through an act of intimate devotion.
