Page 21 of Taken in the Tree Farm
He reaches for the lights then, and I watch through hazy eyes as he begins unwrapping certain strands. Not all of them—my wrists stay bound, the collar at my throat remains—but he loosens the ones around my chest and removes the lights from my thighs.
"What are you doing?" My voice is hoarse, wrecked.
"Repositioning you." He helps me sit up, then guides me forward onto my hands and knees. "I want you like this."
The position is vulnerable. My bound wrists make balancing difficult, and without the lights holding my legs in place, I have to actively keep myself steady. My breasts hang heavy, nipples brushing the silk sheets with each breath.
Behind me, I feel him settle between my spread legs. His hands run over my ass, squeezing, spreading me open to his gaze. I should feel humiliated. Should hate being displayed like this.
Instead, I feel my arousal drip down my inner thigh.
"Perfect," he says, and I hear genuine appreciation in his voice. "You look absolutely fucking perfect like this."
His hand wraps around the strand of lights at my throat—the one that loops around like a collar. He gathers the excess length, creating makeshift reins, and gives them a gentle tug.
My head pulls back slightly, throat arching, and the pressure against my neck sends a thrill through me that I don't want to examine too closely.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he says, and there's no question in it. No asking permission. Just stating fact. "And you're going to take everything I give you."
I should protest. Should say something, anything, to assert some kind of control over this situation.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Yes."
The word is barely a whisper, but it's surrender. Complete and total. I want him to fuck me.
He makes a satisfied sound and then I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He's big. Bigger than his fingers, and I'm already oversensitive from two orgasms. The stretch as he pushes inside is intense, bordering on too much.
But it's not. It's exactly right.
He takes his time, feeding himself into me inch by inch, letting me adjust to the intrusion. The lights at my throat remain in his hand, and every few seconds he gives them a slight tug, reminding me that he controls my breathing, my position, my pleasure.
When he's finally fully seated inside me, buried to the hilt, we both groan.
"Fuck," he breathes, his free hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. "You feel incredible."
I can't respond. Can barely breathe. He's so deep, filling me completely, stretching me in ways that blur the line between pleasure and pain. My arms shake with the effort of holding myself up, my bound wrists making the position even more challenging.
He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in. The force rocks me forward, and I have to brace harder to keep from collapsing. He does it again, setting a rhythm that's brutal and exhilarating.
I need more. I want him to lose control the way he made me lose it.
"Harder," I gasp, pushing back against him.
"What was that?" His hand tightens on the lights at my throat, pulling my head back further. "I didn't quite hear you."
"Harder." The word comes out strangled as the lights restrict my airflow slightly. "Please. Fuck me harder."
"There's my desperate little sugarplum." He releases the tension on the lights and drives into me with enough force to make me cry out. "Is this what you need? To be fucked like this?"
Yes. God, yes. That's exactly what I need.
He sets a punishing pace after that, hips slapping against my ass with each thrust. His cock hits so deep inside me that makes my vision blur and coherent thought impossible. I can only feel—the stretch of him inside me, the lights pulsing against my skin, the silk sheets beneath my palms, the control he exerts with those makeshift reins.
He pulls on the lights with each thrust, forcing my back to arch deeper, my throat to stretch. The position makes me feel like prey being mounted. Like something wild that's been caught and is being claimed.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough with exertion. "Take it. Take everything."
His free hand slides around my hip, finding my clit and rubbing in quick circles that match his thrusts. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—pleasure building from multiple points until I don't know where one sensation ends and another begins.
