Chapter 11: The Oath Complete
Silence pooled in the room, thick as the lube drying on my thigh. The aftershocks of the dry, ass-born orgasm still buzzed in my veins, a humiliating echo. My forehead rested on the cool linoleum, my breath coming in ragged hitches against the floor.The silicone replica of my own cock remained planted inside me, a morbid trophy.
“Pull it out.” Mark’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”
A tremor ran through me. With a grunt, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees.The movement shifted the dildo, a blunt reminder. Reaching back, my fingers found the slick base.I pulled.
It came free with a wet, sucking pop.The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet room. A gush of cool lube followed it, leaking down my taint and onto my inner thigh. I could feel my hole, loose and fluttering, clenched around nothing but air. The emptiness was instant, a profound, aching void.“Turn.Face the camera. Spread yourself.”
The commands landed on me like stones.I shuffled on my knees, turning my body towards the blinking red eye on the floor. My own reflection in the vanity mirror was a blurred nightmare of sweat and tears. I couldn’t look at it.Instead, I stared at the camera’s lens, a cyclopean judge.
My hands, trembling violently, moved behind me. I took a shaky breath, the smell of sex and silicone clogging my throat.My fingers found the pliant flesh of my ass cheeks. I hesitated, a final, pathetic flare of a forgotten instinct.“Now, Jack.”
I pulled.
The cool air of the room hit my exposed hole, making it pulse. In the warped reflection, I could see the dark, glistening pink of my interior, the relaxed pucker that refused to close completely.
“Look at that hole,” Mark said, his footsteps soft as he moved closer, circling me.His shadow fell over the camera.“Tell the camera how loose it is. How it’s been stretched by my fingers, my toys, my cock.Beg it. Beg it to see you begging for the real thing.”
My mouth was desert-dry.I swallowed, my throat clicking. “It’s… loose,” I whispered to the red light.The words were ash. “It’s soft.Open.It doesn’t… it doesn’t close right anymore. Not since… not since you started.” A hot tear dripped off my chin and onto the floor. “It’s been stretched by your fingers.By the… the big black toy. By the… by the fake me.” My voice cracked, crumbling under the weight of the description. “It’s a used hole.A slut’s hole. And it’s… it’s clenching on nothing. It’s hungry.” The confession ripped itself from a place of deep, shattering truth.I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the camera’s gaze. “Please… I need Master’s cock.I need it… to feel whole.To feel filled. Please let it see how much I need it.”
I heard the soft rustle of his jeans, the sound of his zipper.The quiet tear of a condom wrapper. Then warmth pressed against my back.The blunt, slick head of his cock nudged against my waiting entrance. It wasn’t silicone.It was living heat, insistent flesh.
“You want it, slut?” His voice was a low growl by my ear, his breath hot.“Yes, Master. Please.” The words were a broken sob.“Please, fuck me. Please fill me up.”
He didn’t ease in.He didn’t test. He drove forward in one brutal, claiming thrust.The scream that tore out of me was raw, animal. It was pain, instantaneous and searing, a blinding stretch that burned through the leftover looseness. It was also relief, so profound it felt like salvation. He buried himself to the root, his pelvis slamming against my battered cheeks, and I convulsed, my spine bowing.The fullness was absolute, devastating. He was so much more than the toy—hotter, harder, alive.He didn’t pause. He set a punishing rhythm from the first stroke, pulling back until just the head caught my rim, then slamming home. Each impact jolted through my guts, each withdrawal leaving a desperate, clenching vacuum.And each forward drive hammered directly into my prostate.
The pleasure wasn’t a wave; it was a relentless, electric current, wired directly from my ass to my brain. My caged dick, trapped and straining against its metal prison, leaked incessantly, a pathetic stream of precum spattering the linoleum beneath me.I couldn’t think. I could only feel—the slap of his skin against mine, the guttural grunts from his chest, the searing stretch, the blinding bursts of bliss from my prostate.
“You’re taking it,” he snarled, his hands digging into my hips, forcing me back onto him. “Taking all nine inches, you desperate fucking bitch.”
I was. My sounds devolved from screams into choked, rhythmic whimpers, a filthy soundtrack to his thrusts. The coil in my guts tightened, supercharged by the dual assault of pain and perfect, prostate-milking pressure. My own cock, utterly untouched, began to jerk violently in its cage.It built too fast, a tsunami with no shore.
“Master… I’m gonna… I can’t…”
“Cum, then,” he hissed, pounding into me with renewed fury. “Cum like the fucking anal whore you are.”
The orgasm exploded.It had nowhere to go, no outlet. It reversed course and detonated inside me, a silent, screaming supernova centered in my ass. My body locked up, every muscle seizing as my hole convulsed around his driving cock.A soundless scream stretched my lips. My caged dick twitched and pulsed, but nothing came out—just a deep, internal, soul-emptying rupture. I wept openly, shuddering, as he fucked me straight through the violent, dry climax, each stroke prolonging the agony and the ecstasy until I was a sobbing, boneless wreck.He finally stilled, buried deep. After a moment, he withdrew.The condom was discarded with a soft snap.“On your back. On the floor.”
I collapsed sideways, then rolled onto my back, my limbs leaden.The ceiling swam above me. He stood over me, his cock, freed from the condom, already hard again, jutting proudly.He nudged my knee with his foot.“Up.Straddle me. Ride me. Show the camera how much you need it.”
Somehow, I got my knees under me. He lay down on his back on the floor, right in front of the camera’s unblinking eye.His cock stood up from his body, a threat and a promise. I moved over him, my body screaming in protest. I reached down, guiding his slippery head to my wet, throbbing entrance.I sank down.
It was easier this time, my body accepting him with a defeated, hungry gasp.I took him all, until my ass rested on his thighs. The angle was different, deeper. I could see the camera lens, could see the reflection of my own ruined face in the mirror behind it.“Move.”
I began to rock. Then, to bounce.The wet, slapping sounds filled the room. Tears tracked clean lines through the sweat and salt on my face.
“Tell them,” Mark said, his voice steady, his hands resting on my thighs, not guiding, just owning.The words bubbled up from the wreckage. “I’m pathetic,” I choked out, riding him, my voice hitching with each downward plunge. “Look at me… I’m a bitch… a bitch for your cock. I’m nothing without it.” I bounced harder, driven by the confession, the shame fueling the motion. “I can’t live without it anymore.It’s all I am.Just a hole for Master. Just a set of holes.” My rhythm became frantic, desperate, chasing the feeling that was already coiling again, impossibly soon.“It owns me!Your cock owns me!It rewired me! I’m its fucking slave!”
The second climax took me with violent, sudden hands. It wasn’t silent. I let out a wail, a pure, torn sound of absolute surrender as my body shuddered and clenched around him, milking him, begging for his seed. He gave it to me. With a final, powerful upward thrust, he groaned, and I felt the hot pulse of his cum filling the condom inside me, a final mark of possession.
I collapsed forward, my sweat-slick chest meeting his, my head lolling onto his shoulder. My body continued to twitch and spasm in small, helpless aftershocks. The red light of the camera stared, a witness to my extinction. Mark’s hand came up, not in comfort, but in a gesture of casual possession, his fingers threading through my damp hair.
“Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against my temple.The word wasn’t praise.It was a label. An assessment of a tool found fit for its purpose.He didn’t move to get up. He just let me lie there, broken and filled, as the camera’s battery light began to blink, signaling an end to the recording.