Page 27 of Magnum, Volume 2

A slight nod of approval, and then, “Assume the position, slave.”

I intended to walk to the mattress, but my feet refused. Or, maybe it isn’t so much that they refused, but if they moved at all, there was a chance I’d go running from the room.

So I stood frozen, heart slamming against my ribs while the memory of the first maintenance session crashed over me — how bad the stretch had burned and hurt, the way the rough part of his cock had scoured my entire hole raw, the way he’d held me down and kept going no matter how hard I fought or begged.

Last time, I’d only known it would hurt. This time I knew exactly how much pain there’d be, but I honestly think memory of the terror and panic I’d felt is what froze me in place.

“I can’t seem to walk there, Master,” I managed. “Please help me.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look annoyed.

“I’ll count to ten. Whatever number I’m on once you’re perfectly in place is how many cane strokes you’ll receive. If you haven’t started moving when I hit ten, I’ll put you there myself, and you’ll get a dozen cuts of a cane you aren’t going to like even a tiny bit.”

New terror cut through the old, and I was moving the instant my brain processed his words, thinking that would avoid the countdown, but then he said, “One” when I was halfway there, and I ran the final steps, so he only made it to three before I managed to drape my hips over the small wedge.

He adjusted me carefully, so my hips were angled just right and my clit hung free in the open air, touching nothing.

He held my wrists over the small of my back in one large hand, and then I heard the cane whistling through the air.

White fire exploded across my ass in a vicious line of agony, and my screams echoed back to me — then the secondary pain ignited, and if there’d been anything in my bladder, I’d have lost it.

The next strike landed just below the first, and I thrashed with everything I had, desperate to twist away, but his hand pinned my wrists and torso to the mattress. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but take it while the new line of fire layered over the first and the whole area throbbed in bright, nauseating waves.

The third cut across the tops of my thighs and completely stole my breath, so my mouth opened but no sounds came out. The pain didn’t bloom into heat and dissipate, it burned into my very soul, into the individual cells. Three searing brands that pulsed with my heartbeat, and every tiny shift felt like fresh damage to skin, nerves, and muscle.

Before I’d even come close to recovering, he climbed onto the bed and his weight settled over me.

His legs surrounded mine, pinning my thighs together so I couldn’t open or shift. The position left me completely trapped — flat, controlled, unable to do more than tremble. He gripped the base of the plug and yanked it free. The sudden emptiness made my hole clench and spasm around nothing, raw and gaping for a split second before the blunt, oversized head of his cock touched my hole and then pressed inside.

Just the head, but the stretch was brutal because those tissues were already tender and swollen from being stretched around the plug.

Also, his weight made the lines from the cane burn with a new intensity, and a series of sobs tore out of me. I was held open by only that thick flare of him, legs locked together, his body heavy on top of mine, and the terrifying knowledge that he could slam the rest of the way in at any second sat like a boulder in my stomach.

“Hush and listen to me, slave.”

He gave me a second to go quiet, and said, “Explain to me why maintenance is important, little fuckslave.”

I forced the words out between shaky breaths. “It’s a scheduled reminder of our positions. Owner and slave. Given at proper intervals, it avoids the need for punishment, Sir.”

He didn’t move and didn’t speak, so I tried again.

“It keeps the structure solid, Master,” I added. “For both of us.”

“Why is it important for you, personally, little slave cunt?”

I closed my eyes and grasped for the right answer. Not just any response, but the truth, because anything less wouldn’t fly. “It’s a reminder of why I obey without question, Master. It’s your promise to me that you’ll enforce the rules. As my owner, how often maintenance happens is entirely up to you. Slaves don’t get to decide that kind of thing, or everything falls apart, Sir.”

“There we are.”

But he didn’t move. He just kept talking.

“You have a choice, slave. Either thank me for providing the structure we both need, or ask me to fuck your asshole and remind you exactly who we are to each other.”

I knew better than to take too long deciding, but both options felt as if they had equal weight. I immediately thought about the conversation on the bike — ritual and boredom. I leaned into that to start, but then added a little of the second option, and ended up with, “Thank you, Master, for providing the structure of maintenance, and for giving both of us a reminder of the power you have over me in our agreed-upon arrangement. Sir.”

“Excellent, slave.”

He drove into me before the second word was completely out, and the thick, abrasive length of him forced me impossibly wide with the first thrust. There was no gradual stretch, no moment to brace, and each plunge after sent him deeper. He was vicious, intent on fucking me as wide open as possible, his girth forcing my hole to stretch and spread around him, and raw screams tore from my chest.