Page 101 of The Sadist and the Brat

“Should I try to add a third finger,” he wondered out loud, “or just get on with it?”

“Do I get an opinion?” she panted. She was clinging to the headboard, hips undulating into the thrust of his fingers.

“Oh, I can guess what that would be.” He slapped her left butt cheek, laughing when the resulting burst of pain made her tighten on his fingers. “But you know, I have a couple of toys I didn’t get to use.”

He started to withdraw his fingers, and she almost burst into tears. “Oh, please, Boss.”

He stopped moving, his fingers barely breaching her tightest hole. “Please what, brat?”

“Please don’t make me wait,” she said, the words tumbling over themselves in her rush to say them.

“Wait for what?” he asked silkily.

“For you to fuck my ass,” she said, and tried to recapture his fingers by pushing back. Maddeningly, he moved too, keeping them where she could barely feel them. “Please, fuck it now, Boss. Please don’t make me wait.”

“Your begging is getting better,” he remarked, and pulled his fingers completely free. Her protest died in a hiss of pain when he grabbed her ass in both hands, fingers digging into the bruised and battered flesh, but she didn’t care. He was pulling her cheeks apart, and that could only mean one thing.

She held her breath when she felt his latex-covered cock glide though the slick, heated folds of her pussy. He was shockingly cold and incredibly slick—he’d used a heavy hand with the lube, something she was sure she’d be grateful for in a moment.

She wouldn't have been surprised if he’d chosen to linger, just to torment her, but thank God he didn’t. Instead he slid quickly upward, bumping over her taint before pressing firmly against her asshole. And before she could so much as draw breath to brace herself, he’d slipped inside.

“Jesus Christ, Sadie,” he marveled, a tinge of awe in his tone. “You sucked me right in.”

She’d have said something smart, something witty—surely she would have—but she was far too busy remembering how to breathe.

God, he felt huge. He wasn’t, of course—he had a perfectly reasonably sized penis—but even fingers felt big in her butt, and he was way bigger than a finger.

He slid forward with ease, lube and her eagerness easing the way, and slid back out again. “Fuck, you feel like a furnace.”

“You feel like a telephone pole,” she countered, closing her eyes to concentrate on the feeling. It hurt, the burn and the stretch and the unbelievable pressure as he worked himself deep. She loved it.

“You love it,” he declared. There was a blast of cold when he added more lube, then he was all the way in, his pelvis pressed against her ass. “Say it.”

“I love it,” she parroted, unable to do anything else. She swore she could feel every single one of his pubic hairs scraping against the raw skin of her butt, and when he leaned into her, pushing her hard into the cushion and rubbing his chest against her, her back lit up like the Fourth of July. “Fuck, Jack.”

“I am,” he assured her. He inched back, then forward again, grinding against her ass. “Believe me, I am.”

She got lost in the pain, in the pleasure. He seemed to be in no hurry, fucking her with a slow, steady pace that seemed specifically designed to push her to the outer edges of control. She was so worked up that she would’ve gladly accepted a pounding, even welcomed it, but he ignored her enticing wiggles and kept to his snail’s pace.

“You’re killing me,” she groaned out, nearly sobbing with frustration. Her orgasm tickled the edges of her consciousness, just out of reach. If he’d only fuck her just a little bit harder…

“Killing you?” he repeated, and it sounded to her buzzing ears as though he was laughing. “I thought I was being very considerate. If I fuck your ass hard and fast, won’t that only exacerbate the…aftereffects?”

It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about. “Yes, but…”

“But what, brat?” he whispered in her ear, low and silky smooth.

“But I need to come,” she whined. Arching her back, she gave a little butt wiggle, pressing her ass into him. The resulting flare of pain made her suck in a breath—man, he’d beaten her assgood—but she welcomed it. Needed it. “Please, Boss. Fuck me harder.”

“Such good begging,” he praised, and obligingly picked up the pace.

God, it hurt. The lube cut the friction to almost nothing, and though the sense of fullness every time he bottomed out was intense, she had no complaints. But her back and her butt felt as though they were on fire, and every time he stopped to add lube, he pulled out completely, which meant that when he drove back in, he breached the tender ring of muscle anew, and no matter how ready and eager she was, it always closed down just enough to make reentry pinch, just enough.

It was so fucking good she could hardly stand it.

It went on and on, pain and pressure and fullness until she wanted to scream. Sweat streamed down her back, making the welts sting anew, and his grip on her ass had turned almost punishing. The orgasm was gathering like a storm in her belly, her cunt, but it was still just out of reach. She needed something else, something more.

“Oh, please,” Hands clutching at the headboard, she turned to look at him. “Please, Jack.”

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