I lose track of the individual sensations somewhere around five, each strike blurring into the next wave of burning pain.
The seventh strike makes me whimper before I can force out the count. "Seven—" The eighth pulls a sharper cry. "Eight—" I'm biting my lip hard enough to hurt. "Nine?—"
The tenth strike lands across both ass cheeks and wraps around to catch my hip. I cry out, the sound raw and unfiltered. "Ten."
"Color?"
"Green." I'm shaking. "Green, Sir."
The flogger drops. His hand smooths over my heated skin, and the contrast between his cool palm and my burning ass makes me shudder. Then his fingers trail down, ghosting over the welts I can feel rising on my skin. Lower, sliding between my legs.
"Fuck. Dripping." His voice goes rough. "You liked the pain. Liked having no control."
I can't answer. Can't form words when his fingers are sliding through the evidence of how much my body responded.
"Answer me."
"Yes, Sir." My voice is wrecked. "I liked it."
"You'll like this more." His fingers push inside me, two at once, and the sudden fullness makes me clench around him. "Wet. Ready. Your body knows what it needs."
I can't stop the moan that escapes when his fingers curl, searching, then finding that spot deep inside that makes my back arch involuntarily.
"Real response. Not the act." He works that spot with brutal precision, hitting it again and again until my breath stutters. "This is you finally feeling it."
I can't argue. Can't defend myself. Because he's right. My body is betraying every lie I've told myself for years.
"Fucking you now." His fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching. "Every inch. You're going to take my cock exactly like this. This pussy is mine."
I hear the rustle of leather, the sound of laces being pulled. Then his hands grip my hips, fingers digging in hard enough that I know I'll have bruises tomorrow.
"Spread wider. Open."
I obey, my thighs trembling as I shift position. The movement makes my ass burn where the flogger marked me, another layer of sensation I can't escape.
The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance. He's big—I can feel that immediately, the thick pressure that promises a stretch I'm not entirely prepared for.
"Breathe."
I inhale, and he slams forward. Not slowly. Not giving me time to adjust. One brutal thrust that splits me open and forces my body to take all of him.
The stretch burns. He's thick enough that I feel every inch as he sinks deeper, my body clenching reflexively around the invasion. It borders on too much—the fullness, the pressure, the way he doesn't stop even when I gasp.
"Fuck. Tight." His grip on my hips tightens. "Squeezing my cock."
He bottoms out, buried so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere. The position has me pinned, helpless, completely at his mercy. My inner walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to his size.
"Mine. This pussy belongs to me. Say it."
I can barely form words with him stretching me so completely. "Yours, Sir."
"Good girl." He pulls back slowly, letting me feel every ridge and vein as he withdraws. Then he slams back in hard enough to rock my entire body forward.
I cry out, the sound muffled against the sheets.
"You’re falling apart on my cock. Stop performing. Feel."
He's right. I can't perform through this. Can't maintain any illusion of control when he's fucking me like he owns me. Each thrust drives deeper, hits places inside me that Vincent never reached, sends sensation spiraling through my entire body.
