Page 167 of Degradation
I can hear him moving about, rifling through things while I’m sat here, waiting.
But as the springs dip, as I hear the soft sound of his knees shuffling along the mattress towards me, my heart skips a beat.
“Husband,” I say, practising the term, trying to get myself used to saying that word without flinching or feeling utterly repulsed.
His hand cups my cheek, he gives me what feels like a chaste kiss and then he’s pulling the woollen dress up over my head, making my hair go static in the process.
I’m not wearing a bra, not wearing any underwear and as I shiver in the cool air, he starts running his hands over my body. He circles my nipples, teases them in a way that feels too delicate, too soft for me.
I whimper, begging for more, begging for the monster I know, not this calm gentle beast.
He lets out a rumble, then moves to grab something and he fixes them to one of my nipples and then the other. I gasp as he does it. I wince, feeling whatever it is tightening and tightening until there’s a searing pain coming from both of them. Jesus it hurts.
“What, what is it?” I breathe.
“Nipple clamps.” Devin replies. “Diamond encrusted nipple clamps. Only the best for my wife.”
I raise my hands, tentatively feeling where they are. My flesh feels so sensitive already, I can feel my heart rate pulsing as my blood is trapped by the pressure.
“How do I look?” I ask. “Am I beautiful?”
His hand yanks my hair back, yanks my head back so that my neck snaps and my face stares up at him. “You look more than that, Paitlyn. You look majestic. You look like a goddess, an angel about to commit her first sin.”
Something inside me coils tighter, I rock my hips before I can stop myself and with my right hand I slap my breasts, slap them hard. The pain makes me hiss, it makes me cry out, but I can tell my husband can’t get enough of it.
“You’re a little masochist.” He comments.
“For you.” I reply. “Only you can make the pain feel this good.”
He kisses me so desperately. His hands dig into my waist and I’m grinding against his cock, silently begging for him to fuck me into oblivion.
He slips something into me, something that feels solid and yet so good. Within in seconds the thing is vibrating enough that if I still had my eyes, I know they’d be rolling back in my head with the ecstasy.
He drops his hold, shifts backs and I know he’s watching me as I arch over, as I ride this thing like my life depends upon it.
“Such a filthy little whore.” He comments, though the words only make me more desperate.
“I need your cock.” I hiss. “I need you, my husband. I need you to consummate our marriage, to properly claim me as your wife.”
He grabs my body, twists me around, and then he slides himself in past my arsehole. With the toy still buried in my pussy it’s a damn tight fit but it feels so so good. His hand reaches up, supporting me by my poor breasts, as he starts driving his cock into me over and over.
It’s too good. It’s too…
I writhe, fucking him just as hard as he’s fucking me. The thing inside me pulses more and more and it feels like I’ve lost all sense of reason, all ability to speak.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I’m no longer a person. I’m no longer human. I’m exactly what he named me as; a fallen angel, a thing now lost to both sin and damnation.
His hands capture my face, he holds my head in such a way that I think he’s studying me, trying to prove to himself that I really am as lost to the world as he is.
“I’m so close,” I gasp and it comes out as a sob. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter and I start thrashing, wailing, screaming like a thing possessed as my climax takes me.
He doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath, a moment to even breathe before he’s pulling that thing out of me and he’s shoving something else into me, something hard, something more rectangle shaped, something definitely not designed to bethere.
He grips hold of the end and starts fucking me with it, thrusting in perfect coordination with his cock.
“Oh God,” I groan, slumping against him. It’s too much. It’s too much to take, too much pleasure, too much pain too.
