Page 22 of Take Me

I squeeze my eyes shut and force back my pride to save myself from agonizing pain. My voice is barely above a whisper when I finally manage the words. “Please use my ass.”

“Not good enough.” He smacks my ass hard enough to make me cry out and jerk around his finger. A raspy sensation like sandpaper scratches at my tissues.

“Please, train my ass. Sir. Please, Sir.” The words crush me, and I break into a sob that opens the floodgates. Seeking purchase as desperation tears through me, I work my useless, leather-bound hands against the rope.

Mikhail lets out a cruel chuckle. “Since you ask so nicely,Koshechka.”

There’s the sound of a lid popping open, and then cold lube trickles between my ass cheeks, around his finger. He pulls out and pushes in again, smearing lube onto the edges of my narrow opening.

He repeats a few times until he easily slides in and out, fucking my ass with his fingertip.

I feel dirty and vile, my ass smeared in sticky lube and a stranger’s finger pumping intothathole.

“You’re lucky I’m the first one to use your ass. If I’d let Dorin do it, you might not be so lucky to get lube and one digit at a time.”

The bulky man huffs a cruel laugh. He remains at the other end of the room, watching the violation unfold.

But I’m stuck on the first part of Mikhail’s words. Nikolai should have been the first one to use me back there. More than once, he talked about how he looked forward to sinking into my tight ass, and I imagined how he’d carefully work me up to fit his size.

I weep, utterly broken. I weep from the indignity of it all, the devastating helplessness of losing my body,and the knowledge that Nikolai won’t get to be the first one to use me back there.

Mikhail pushes a bit farther in, and my nerve endings spark to life, sending strange sensations into my tissues.

I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.

At least, that’s what I try to convince myself of. But as he sinks a little deeper, I’m horrified to realize that my pussy is throbbing—begging for something to clutch onto.

“You’re such a little ass slut. Did you know that?” Mikhail pumps in and out. He never sinks deeper than the second knuckle, but his finger is long, and the sensation is more than enough to shoot tiny bolts of electricity into my sensitive tissues. “You’re fucking clenching my finger, begging for more.”

“No, I’m not.” I try to deny it ardently, but my body won’t cooperate no matter how hard I try. The need keeps building until I’m desperate, crying thenmoaning, scraping the mittens furiouslyat the ropes, then arching my back.

“Do something about her pussy, will you?” Mikhail orders the brute—who must be Dorin. The massive man steps forward, unclipping his stick from his belt. It’s as long as a police baton, but slightly thinner and rounded at the tip, and when he holds it between my legs, I realize it’s to serve a double purpose.

I kick out a leg, trying to shove it away, but it only earns me a hard thwap on my thigh. Pain blossoms in my muscles, making me buck in the restraints, and he easily slides the stick through my wetness and pumps it into my pussy with a staggering force.

“Show me how much you love getting your holes filled,” Mikhail orders with the same resonant authority as when he came in.

His words are vile and crude, but I can’t deny the effect. God knows I try to, but he has already broken me down so much that there’s nothing left to keep my defenses intact. So the command slips straight in, hitting into that perverted part of myself I’ve always tried to hide—always been ashamed of. It throbs and tightens deep in my belly, like Nikolai’s commands have done all week, awakening a desperate need for release.

A moan bursts from deep within my stomach, and when he repeats the words, I come apart, writhing and jerking with the full force of an explosive orgasm.

***

When Mikhail takes me down and places me on the mattress, I’m numb. Shaking, but numb.

Both men leave, and I have no idea how long time passes before Mikhail returns with a steaming bowl of meat stew that he places beside the mattress.

“Eat,” he says.

I don’t move. I just stare into the space before me, feeling dirty and broken.

Worthless.

The slightest movement brings awareness to the sticky mess between my ass, a flicker of my gaze brings my attention to the black mittens, and any active thought takes me straight back to one out of the many horrors I’ve already endured here.

So I just lie there. Not thinking, not moving, barely even looking.

I feel Mikhail’s eyes on me, studying me closely. When he sinks onto the mattress and grabs me by the waist, I instinctively whimper, expecting more pain or degradation. But he simply lifts me up to sit. Draping his left arm behind me, he uses it as a sling to hold me up as he takes the bowl in the same hand and picks up the spoon with the other. “Open your mouth.”

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