Chapter 26: Weekend PT 4
The leash handle was still warm from Ron’s sweat-slicked grip where it lay discarded on the rumpled sheet. The note beside it – fuck pets face till she pukes – seemed to pulse with obscene energy. Puck knelt before him, eyes wide, expectant, lips parted, the cold rim of the steel mixing bowl pressing into the soft flesh beneath her chin. Her breath hitched with anticipation, a soft, eager whine escaping her throat. Ron felt the terrifying, traitorous throb of renewed hardness as her fingers had coaxed him moments before.
He moved without conscious thought. Survival instinct, maybe. Or the sheer, drowning pressure of her terrifying need. His hand, trembling violently, shot out, not towards her face, but into the thick, dark waterfall of her hair. His fingers tangled, tightened, pulling with a force that startled him. A gasp, sharp and wet, escaped Puck as her head was wrenched forward.
He didn’t thrust. He shoved. Hard.
Her mouth opened wider on a choked cry that was instantly silenced as he filled it, burying himself in the wet, resisting heat of her throat. Her body tensed, a wild animal trapped, muscles locking rigid. He felt the convulsive ripple deep within her as her gag reflex fired. A muffled, guttural hrrk vibrated against his skin, hot and desperate.
He held himself there, buried to the root, his fingers locked in her hair like a vise. Her eyes, wide open, streamed instantly. Tears welled over the lower lids, tracing glistening paths down her flushed cheeks. Her nostrils flared, sucking futilely at the air blocked by his intrusion. The sound was horrifying – a wet, rhythmic choking, punctuated by sharp, aborted swallows and the slick slap of saliva forced past her lips. Her body bucked weakly beneath his grip, not in resistance, but in the frantic, involuntary spasms of suffocation.
Ron looked down, past the desperate flutter of her lashes, past the tears dripping steadily now. Below her trembling chin, the bowl waited. A large, viscous droplet of saliva, thick and glistening, stretched from her lower lip, lengthened, and finally fell with a soft plink onto the polished steel surface. It pooled, trembling. Then another tear followed, joining it in the basin.
Make her choke. Make her puke. The words echoed from the note, from her voice, inside his own pounding skull. He pulled back, just enough to allow a thin gasp, a ragged inhale choked on phlegm. Her throat worked convulsively, trying to clear the obstruction, her entire body shaking. He saw the panic in her eyes, raw and primal, before it was instantly submerged beneath a terrifying surge of something else. Ecstasy? Surrender? Madness?
Before she could draw a full breath, he shoved forward again, harder this time. Her head snapped back with the force, a strangled cry ripped from her chest only to be abruptly cut off as he slammed deep. The gagging sound intensified, a wet, tearing noise deep in her chest. Her hands, which had flailed uselessly at her sides, shot up and clamped onto his thighs. Not pushing him away. Digging in, her nails biting through the thin fabric of his trousers, anchoring herself as her body convulsed violently.
He fucked her throat in short, brutal strokes. No rhythm, only the desperate need to fulfill the command, to make the horrible sounds stop, to appease the terrifying creature kneeling before him. Each thrust forced a fresh torrent of tears. Saliva frothed at the corners of her stretched lips, dripping freely now, plink-plink-plinking into the bowl beneath her. Her eyes rolled back slightly, showing crescents of white, her breath coming in desperate, whistling gasps whenever he pulled back the barest inch. Mascara bled down her cheeks in dark rivulets.
"Guh… guh… hrnnk!" The choked sounds were constant, a distressing symphony of bodily revolt. Her grip on his thighs tightened, knuckles white. Her hips jerked in small, involuntary circles against the bedsheets. Ron felt detached, watching himself from a distance – this monstrous version of him gripping her hair, using her face, watching her tears and spit collect in a baking bowl. The metallic scent of saliva mixed with the lingering sweat and incense, thick in his nostrils.
He pulled out completely, slick and glistening. Puck doubled over instantly, a racking cough tearing through her. She gasped, a raw, animal sound, sucking in great gulps of air. Strings of thick spit and mucus hung from her lips, dripping heavily into the bowl. Tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin. Her shoulders heaved, her entire frame wracked with tremors.
Ron stared, panting, horror crystallizing in his chest. What had he done? What was he doing?
Puck lifted her head. Her face was a wreck – flushed, tear-streaked, smeared with smudged black mascara, lips swollen and slick. But her eyes… they burned. Not with fear or pain, but with a terrifying, luminous intensity. A shaky, ecstatic smile stretched her spit-slicked lips. She swallowed thickly, wincing, her voice a rasping ruin.
"Good…" she croaked, the word scraping raw. "Good tears, Master. See?" She gestured weakly towards the bowl, now holding perhaps half an inch of viscous, pearlescent fluid swirling with black streaks. "Pet’s… making… offerings." She drew another ragged breath, a shudder running through her. Her gaze locked onto him, fever-bright. Her hand, trembling, reached out and touched his leg again, sliding upwards with deliberate purpose, her touch still possessive, still demanding. "Pet... pet needs more. Master… Master hasn't… hasn't finished using her stupid face yet." The smile widened, grotesque and adoring against the ruin of her features. "Pet’s ready. So ready. Ruin me harder, baby. Fill the bowl with Pet's slop"
Ron stared at the swirling mess in the bowl – tears, spit, streaks of mascara like polluted ink. Puck’s ruined face beamed up at him, that possessed smile stretching her raw, red lips. Her hand slid higher up his thigh, fingers digging in with desperate strength. "C'mon, baby," she rasped, the sound like stones grinding together in her abused throat. "Don't stop now. Pet’s hungry for it."
Her words slammed into him, shattering the fragile bubble of horror. A frantic energy, part terror, part something darkly compelled, surged through his limbs. He didn't think. He grabbed the back of her head again, fingers tangling painfully in her dark hair, slick now with sweat and tears. He yanked her forward.
Her open mouth met him, a hot, resisting cave. He pushed in hard, feeling the convulsive clench of her throat muscles instantly. A wet, gurgling choke tore from her, muffled against his skin. Her body spasmed, back arching, but her hands flew back to his thighs, holding on like claws, nails biting deep. Plink. Plink-plink. More viscous drops hit the steel below her trembling chin.
He fucked her throat in short, sharp jabs. No finesse. Just desperation and a sickening need to obey the grotesque command, to appease the terrifying creature who seemed to feed on this violation. Each thrust forced a fresh, wet gagging sound. Her eyes streamed continuously, tears cutting paths through the smeared black around them. Air whistled shrilly through her flared nostrils whenever he pulled back a fraction, only to be choked off again. Saliva frothed thickly, coating her lips, his skin, dripping steadily. The sharp smell of stomach acid suddenly joined the metallic tang of spit, acrid and unsettling.
"Guh-huh... hrrkkk!" A deeper, wetter retch shook her. Her body heaved violently against his grip. He held her down, pinned on him, feeling the powerful contractions ripple through her throat. Then it came. A sudden, hot gush, not just spit. Thick, sour-smelling fluid erupted around him, splattering onto his thighs, hot on his skin. Simultaneously, a heavier stream splashed into the waiting bowl with a sickening sploosh.
He recoiled instinctively, pulling out completely. Puck doubled over, a raw, tearing cough wracking her frame. She vomited properly then, heaving violently, yellow bile and half-digested something spewing into the steel basin. It mixed horribly with the tears and spit already there. Strings of vomit and mucus hung from her lips, swaying. She gasped, a desperate, ragged sound, sucking in air like she’d been drowning. Her whole body trembled violently, slick with sweat.
Ron stumbled back a step, bile rising in his own throat. The sight. The smell – acid, salt, sweat, sex. Puck looked utterly destroyed, folded over the bowl like a broken doll, her raven hair sticking to her wet face and neck. Horror, cold and absolute, flooded him. What the fuck had he just done? His hands shook uncontrollably.
Then she lifted her head. Slowly. Her face was a mask of suffering – flushed, tear-streaked, smeared with black and sick. But her eyes. God, her eyes. They burned with that same terrifying intensity, bright and feverish through the wreckage. A shaky, triumphant smile touched her ruined lips. She swallowed thickly, wincing, her voice a shredded whisper.
"See, baby?" she rasped, gesturing weakly towards the bowl now holding a vile, viscous soup nearly two inches deep. Pearly fluids swirled with inky mascara streaks and chunks of yellow bile. "Filled it… for you." She drew a shuddering breath, her gaze locking onto his with unnerving focus. "Knew… knew you could." Her hand, trembling violently, reached out towards him again across the stained sheets.