Page 31 of Magnum, Volume 1

“Lift and bend your legs.”

His voice wasn’t mean, but it wasn’t kind, either. He expected to be obeyed, and I wondered what would happen if I didn’t, but not enough to try it and see.

Seconds later, the plug was pressed against my hole, and he pushed. I was still sore from having to wear it for so long that morning, and I couldn’t stop the whine that slipped out from the stretch and burn.

“Please,” I gasped, my fingers tightening on the bar. “It’s too much right now. Please, just… give me a minute, Sir.”

He kept pressing, slow and relentless.

“Please have mercy! It’s too much, Sir!”

“Oh yeah,” he said, voice low. “Beg me like a good little cunt. Love to hear you begging for mercy I have no intentions of bestowing.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Fresh waves of heat flooded between my legs even as the plug stretched me wider and wider. I whimpered again, louder this time, and he just kept working it in with that same calm, unhurried pressure until my body finally gave way and it sank home.

I was shaking by the time he stepped away, and then seconds later, he was locking the damned heels onto my feet again. Fuck. My calves and feet still burned from the morning.

“Permission to release, slave.”

I let go and landed on my toes, prepared for it better than I’d been the first time.

“Who am I, slave?”

“Sir. You’re my Sir.”

A nod, and then, “On your knees, little fuckdoll.”

My legs were unsteady, but I went to them as quickly as I could without hurting myself. He stepped in front of me, dropped his shorts, and wrapped one hand around the back of my neck.

“Open your cunt mouth and get to work. Hands behind your back.”

He was already hard — and grotesque. Not gross, just… monstrous. So obscenely oversized it made my stomach flip. The huge misshapen head alone was intimidating, and what came behind was terrifying. I had no idea how I was going to please him, but I leaned forward and dragged my tongue up the underside of his cock, tasting nothing but clean skin. He let me lick him for a while, long, slow strokes from the thick base to the blunt head, before he pressed himself into my mouth.

I had to open wide to take him in. Just the head stretched my jaw wide enough to ache. My lips were taut around the flare of him, but I managed to suck, careful of my teeth. I worked my tongue against the underside and felt him swell even harder in my mouth. Spit slipped down my chin but I couldn’t wipe it. I wished I could work the base with my hands, but he clearly didn’t want that, so I kept my hands where he’d ordered.

And he held me firmly around the base of my skull, his huge hand holding me exactly where he wanted me, but he never pushed deeper. He simply stood there and let me struggle to please him — sucking, licking, drooling around the thick head while my jaw burned and my eyes watered.

I don’t know how long I was on my knees, maybe five minutes, when he stepped back, tucked himself into his shorts, and casually said, “Back downstairs. C’mon.”

Halfway down the steps, he said, “Working out always pumps testosterone through my system. Makes me want to fuck something.” He glanced back at me with a small, dark smile. “We need to eat first. And your food’ll need time to settle, but I’m looking forward to hearing you scream when I fuck you with that big ol’ plug in your ass.”

I froze on the stairs.

The thought of him inside me while I was already stretched and aching around the plug made my knees go weak. Everything would be tighter. Everything would hurt more.

He chuckled at whatever he saw on my face and kept walking.

By the time I reached the kitchen, he already had the food out of the oven and was carrying the plates to the table.

“Pour the drinks,” he said without looking at me. “Then sit.”

I moved on autopilot, my hands unsteady as I filled our glasses. When I finally lowered myself onto the chair, the thick plug shifted hard inside me, a sharp stab that forced a too-loud gasp out of me before I could stop it. I breathed in and kept my eyes on the table, pulse hammering, disconcertingly aware of how full and owned I still was.

We’d gone from zero to a thousand in a matter of hours, and I wasn’t complaining, but fuck, I was… discombobulated. Out of sorts. I wanted this, but it was both new and overwhelming.

He sat across from me like nothing was unusual, picked up his fork, and started eating.

I stared at my plate, heart pounding, sore and throbbing, and quietly terrified of what came next, but also relieved he hadn’t stopped when I’d begged, which I realize is fucked up.