Page 20 of Magnum, Volume 2

As always, she was perfect — palms flat on the wood, even though she had to stretch a little to keep from putting them on the glass. Her legs were spread, and her ass pushed up and out, so I could see the thick base of the plug peeking from between her cheeks, with her plump lips silhouetted below. The cincher compressed her waist considerably, leaving exaggerated, sexy lines between ribs and hips, and every shallow breath she took made the steel bones shift and move ever-so-slightly.

And her legs… fuck me. They are always long and beautiful, but the heels make them look even longer, and they force the muscles in her calves to pop out in 3D definition.

I wanted to make this night memorable for both of us, and I tried my hardest to burn this image into my brain.

“Come here,” I finally said, and it came out as an order, which was fine. Didn’t matter if I stated it as a request or a command, she’d still come just the same.

Sure enough, she stood, turned, and walked to me like a fucking runway model. I instructed and guided her over my lap and deliberately shifted her forward, tilting her off-balance until most of her weight rested on her arms. She had to hold herself up or risk going face-first into the floor, so there was no way to reach back and try to fight me.

The position left her completely open — ass high, cunt and plugged hole on full display, and I couldn’t resist sinking two fingers into her cunt and then licking them.

I wiggled the plug, tugged on it, and then got started with open-handed strikes on her luscious ass cheeks, light to start — so soft and easy, I could scent her frustration.

I alternated the swats with caresses, rubbing her ass and the backs of her thighs, and then struck the spots I’d just rubbed.

Every so often, I’d slide my fingers back into her cunt, or massage around her clit, or tug and pull at the plug until she was gasping and squirming.

I gradually hit harder, and her ass went from pale to a soft pink, then deeper, to a rosy flush. I took my time. I wanted her floating before I pushed harder.

When her scent spiked sweet and desperate, I shoved three fingers into her cunt, curling and pressing until her thighs trembled and her breath turned into short, frantic sounds. I kept her right on the edge for a solid two minutes, reminding her slaves don’t come without permission — and then I pulled my hand free and whaled on her ass.

I paid attention to every shift in her scent, every tiny change in the way her body tensed. I hit her hard enough to keep it at a good pain level. This was supposed to be a special treat, so I fed her arousal with erotic pain she could handle.

Over time, her ass deepened to deep burgundy, and soft, broken noises slipped out of her with regularity. I edged her with the spanking, letting the rhythm, the heat, and the sting work her into a frenzy.

When everything about her told me she was close — scent, sounds, movements — I put more force into the next dozen swats and ordered, “Come, slave.”

And my little Stormy girl shattered over my lap. Her entire body locked and shuddered, while the most beautiful sounds came from her chest and throat.

“That’s it,” I told her. “What a good little masochist you are, coming without anyone touching that cunt or your little clit. Coming from pain alone.”

I kept striking through it, harder, faster, feeding the climax with chaos and pain. Every blow landed while her body was still locked and shaking, overwhelming her with sensations and pain she isn’t used to reaching this kind of release from. When the strongest pulses started to fade, I shoved three fingers deep into her cunt and fucked her with them, rough and relentless, while she sobbed and clenched and rode the rest of it out.

“Oh what a good little pain-slave you are,” I taunted her, and then pulled my hand out, gave her another dozen hard strikes to the backs of her legs this time, and forced four fingers into her cunt and pressed hard. “Come on my hand, my red-assed little fucktoy.”

I kept her coming for so long, she wilted over my lap when I finally let her stop, sliding down so her forearms held her up, her head between her arms.

I wiggled the plug a little more, and then lifted her in my arms and just sat and held her like an infant.

It was heavenly, holding my girl after I’d completely worn her out, and I just enjoyed it for at least five minutes.

But I wasn’t finished with her. The goal was to leave her so thoroughly used and sore, she’d still feel every thrust a week later, still be so raw and tender she’d think of me every time she sat.

I’d altered what came before our routine, but we were going to end the night the way I end all of our days — with her on her back and me in her cunt, pounding her through even more orgasms, until I was ready to empty myself inside the vessel she became for me every night.

- - - ❖ - - -

Storm

I heard him talking, but it took a minute for my brain to process the words.

“Slaves don’t get to collapse just because they’re tired. Fix us both a glass of tea, my exhausted little cunt.”

I managed to stand with his help, and then walked on trembling, shaky legs to get the glasses, to pour the tea, and then to take the glasses to the table, since he’d moved the chair back to it.

“Permission to sit,” he told me, while he stood and drank his tea.

I winced and then gasped when my butt landed in the seat and the plug shifted inside me, stabbing into me and making the ring of muscles spasm, which made them burn all over again.