Page 50 of Brutal Savior

“I see you took the plug out. You’ll probably regret that.”

He punctuates the words by sliding a finger in, quickly followed by another. The burn isn’t quite as intense as it was the first time—the plug must have done some good after all—but it still makes me gasp around the gag as he twists them inside me.

Nothing should go in there, and he’s rummaging around like he’s every right to do so. Like he wants to stick his whole hand up there.

Oh, Christ. I saw a video of that once. He wouldn’t. Would he? No. Don’t be stupid.

“Tight as fuck. This is going to be a struggle, love. Try to relax.”

His fingers withdraw, and the relief is punctuated with the fear of what comes next. The head of his cock presses between my cheeks, and holy good shit, it feels like a baseball bat. It just thumps against the ring of muscle, a blunt object with absolutely no hope of entry.

It’s impossible. Surely he’ll give up on the whole plan? It’s not going to happen. But his fingers are back, spreading me, and little by little, the impossible happens. My body starts to open up around the tip.

Fuck. No.

My ass screams in protest and I drop my hands to the bed, fists clenching as I stretch.

Ouch.

Ouch.

Ouch.

This isn’t safe. He’s splitting me in two. The pain builds to a red-hot, burning brand. Tears sting my eyes, and I yell into the gag as his fingers roll over my clit. “Shhhh. You don’t get to come, but this will make it better.”

Nothing will make this better. Oh, God, it fucking hurts. But as his fingers work my clit, the edges of the world soften. I breathe into the pain, and wild energy joins it, racing through my body. Heat rushes over my skin, and my head spins as pleasure goes towar with the agony in my ass. It’s nowhere close to eliminating it, but it gives my mind something else to cling to.

“God, Quinn.” Jacob’s voice has lost the cold, cruel edge. He sounds alive again. “I wish you could see how much you’re stretching for me. It’s so fucking hot. You’re the perfect little fuck toy.”

Am I? Am I really? I want to scream at him, tell him how goddamn glad I am that he’s enjoying wrecking me for his own pleasure. But there’s a sick part of me that wraps itself around those words, too. His little fuck toy. Why does that nasty phrase have me pressing into his circling fingers?

He notices and pulls his fingers away from my clit. My body screams in disappointment right as he says, “That’s it, love. I’m all the way in. Breathe.”

He presses hard against me, holding still as my body tries its best to adjust. I’m impaled on an iron spike with no relief in sight. I try to take his advice, drawing in deep, ragged breaths through my nose.

“Good girl.” He explores my pussy. “And look at this. Soaking wet. You like me using you? What a shame I can’t fuck this hot little pussy tonight. If you’d behaved, that was the plan. But bad girls get punished.”

He starts to move, and Christ, I can’t take it. I can’t take any more. He starts slow, and I swear I feel every movement in my goddamn stomach. He’s rearranging my insides, and it's too much. I twist the sheets in my hands.

As if he senses the moment I start to panic, his fingers find my clit again. The sudden flare of needy pleasure dulls the pain, and my body relaxes. The rhythm of his thrusts becomes bearable, a thudding counterpoint to the movement of his fingers.

His little fuck toy. That’s what I feel like as my body jerks every time he slams against me. As he speeds up, it all mergestogether. Pain, punishing thrusts, and building need. It’s a whirlwind in my head, and I lose myself in it.

His breathing grows strained, and he freezes his hand, just pressing on my clit instead of rubbing it. No! God-fucking-damnit. The bubble of pleasure bursts, my clit pulses angrily, and the pain in my ass comes back into sharp relief. My body screams, stretched beyond its limits, as he slams all the way in with a groan.

I can feel it, him shooting inside me. Filling me up. Jesus. How is there space with him crammed in? He holds there, panting, and it doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any softer. Oh no. Is he one of those marathon men that can go for a second round without a break? I’ll die. I’ll actually die.

Mercifully, thank whatever mythical being is watching over me in this goddamn place, he plants a kiss on the back of my head and murmurs, “Well, I enjoyed that. And that’s what matters.”

The teasing note is in his voice again, and even though I want to slap him for what he said, it’s a hell of a relief. That other Jacob, the cold, mean one, scares the shit out of me.

He extracts himself slowly, and I wince as he pulls free. Everything back there feels weird. Stinging, sore, and somehow open.

He draws in a sharp breath. “Fuck, you’re gaping. Maybe I should plug you up, keep all that come inside you for a while?”

My pathetic whine makes him chuckle. “No, you’re right. Too much for your first time. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

That turns out to be a messy process, but ten minutes later, I’m back on the sofa, clean, as Jacob finally unfastens the gag and pulls it out. Oh, the relief. I work my jaw and stare at the thing. Nowhere near as large as I’d been imagining.

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