Chapter 3: Aftercare Turns Feral
The deep, boneless satisfaction of sleep held them for what felt like only a moment. The candle had guttered out, leaving the room in profound darkness, the kind that felt like a physical weight. Sebastian stirred first, his consciousness returning not with a jolt, but with the slow, warm awareness of her body curled against his. The scent of their lovemaking—sex, sweat, and the faint, clean note of sandalwood soap—still clung to the sheets, a potent perfume that immediately stirred his blood.
He shifted, his arm tightening around her waist. Alexis made a soft, sleepy sound of protest, nuzzling deeper into the pillow.
“You awake?” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep.
“Mmm. Barely.” She stretched against him, a slow, cat-like movement that pressed the delicious curve of her ass against his groin. He was already hard, his erection nestling into the warm cleft between her cheeks. A sharp, quiet intake of breath was her only response, but it was enough. Her body went still, listening, waiting.
He moved his hand from her waist, sliding it down over the swell of her hip. His palm was warm, possessive. He traced the line of her thigh, then back up, his fingers splaying across the soft skin of her buttock. He could feel the slight, residual tenderness there, a memory of their earlier violation etched into her flesh.
“Sore?” he asked, his voice low.
“A little,” she admitted, her own voice hushed in the dark. “It’s a good sore.”
A possessive thrill shot through him. His good girl. His hand drifted lower, his fingers gently tracing the seam of her, feeling the puffy, well-used flesh of her cunt, then moving higher, to the other, tighter entrance he had claimed so thoroughly. She flinched, a tiny, involuntary spasm.
“Sebastian,” she breathed, a note of warning and want warring in her tone.
“Shhh. I just want to look.” He moved with a sudden, fluid strength, rolling her onto her stomach. The sheets whispered against her skin. He loomed over her, his weight braced on his knees, and hooked his hands under her hips, lifting her, positioning her so her ass was presented to him in the deep gloom. He parted her cheeks, the movement clinical and utterly degrading.
The faint light from the window was just enough to see by. The skin around her backdoor was flushed a deep pink, looking used and beautifully stretched. A possessive groan rumbled in his chest. “Fuck, look at you. Look what I did to you.”
His thumb, calloused and rough, stroked over the tender ring of muscle. She shuddered, a full-body tremor that ran through her like a current. “It’s so red,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So open for me.”
Before she could form a coherent thought, before she could even process the intense vulnerability of the position, he leaned down and spit. A warm, wet glob of saliva landed directly on his thumb and her stretched hole. The sound was obscene in the quiet room.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, burying her face in the mattress.
He worked the spit into her with his thumb, a slow, circling pressure that made her clench around nothing. The soreness was a live wire, each touch sending jolts of sharp sensation through her. Then his thumb was gone, replaced by the blunt, insistent pressure of two fingers, slick with his spit.
“Relax, baby,” he coaxed, but his voice was tight with a hunger that brooked no argument. “Just take it for me.”
He pushed. The burn was immediate and intense, a white-hot stretch that stole the air from her lungs. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, a strangled cry caught in her throat. He didn’t stop. He worked his two thick fingers into her, past the resisting ring of muscle, burying them to the knuckles in her impossibly tight channel.
“Fuck, yes,” he grunted, his own breath coming in harsh pants. “So fucking tight. Even after I wrecked it.”
He began to move them, a slow, scissoring motion that stretched her even further. The pain was still there, a bright, sharp edge, but beneath it, something else was awakening, a deep, throbbing pleasure that began to pulse in time with his movements. Her body, traitorously, began to relax, began to accept the invasion.
His other hand slid beneath her, his fingers finding her clit, swollen and sensitive. He didn’t tease. He pressed the rough pad of his thumb against the hard little nub and began rubbing it in hard, frantic circles.
The dual assault was overwhelming. The deep, filling stretch of his fingers in her ass and the brutal, direct stimulation on her clit short-circuited her brain. Pleasure, sharp and coiling, built in her core, so intense it was almost unbearable. She was panting, drooling onto the sheets, her hips moving in tiny, helpless jerks, trying to get more friction, more of everything.
“You like that, you filthy girl?” he growled, his voice guttural. “You like having my fingers in your ass while I make you come?”
“Yes! Yes, please!” she sobbed, the words mangled by the mattress.
“Come on, then. Scream for me. Let me feel you come all over my hand.”
He crooked the fingers inside her, pressing against a spot that made her see stars, while his thumb worked her clit like he was trying to start a fire. The orgasm detonated. It wasn't a wave; it was a seizure, a violent, uncontrollable convulsion that ripped through her. A raw, shattered scream was torn from her throat, muffled by the fabric beneath her. Her back arched violently, her entire body clamping down on his invading fingers as pleasure, white-hot and absolute, obliterated her.
He held her through it, his fingers still working inside her, milking the last pulses of her climax until she was a boneless, trembling wreck, collapsed into the sodden sheets.
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew his fingers. The sound was wet, intimate. He lowered her hips, his hands smoothing over the heated skin of her back. He lay down beside her, gathering her shaking form into his arms. She turned her face into his chest, her tears hot against his skin.
He held her, saying nothing, just stroking her hair as her breathing slowly evened out. The room was silent again, the only sound their shared breaths and the frantic beating of her heart against his.
After a long while, she looked up at him, her eyes luminous in the dark. A slow, wicked, utterly sated smile touched her swollen lips.
“Your turn,” she whispered, her hand sliding down his stomach with unmistakable intent.
His hand caught hers before it could reach its destination, his fingers lacing through hers with a possessiveness that made her breath hitch. That mischievous glint she loved was back in his eyes, but it was darker now, edged with a thrilling authority. "Oh no you don't," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety command that vibrated through her. "My turn means I'm in charge."
He shifted off the bed with a fluid, purposeful grace, his naked body a pale sculpture in the dark room. He crossed to the heavy, ornate armoire where they kept spare linens, and from a top shelf, he pulled out a length of deep crimson, supple velvet rope. It was the same cord they used to tie back the drapes on occasion, but in his hands, it took on a new, ominous meaning.
"Seb," she said, her voice a mixture of curiosity and sudden apprehension. She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching him.
"On your back," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Arms above your head."
A slow, hot flush spread through her chest. This was new. The trust from their earlier exploration still hummed between them, a live wire. After a heartbeat's hesitation, she complied, lying back and stretching her arms up towards the carved wooden headboard. The position made her feel incredibly exposed, her breasts lifting, her body open and entirely vulnerable to him.
He came to her side of the bed, the rope coiled in his hands. He didn't speak as he took her left wrist first. His touch was firm but not rough, wrapping the lush fabric around her wrist in a deliberate loop before tying a secure, efficient knot. He pulled it taut, securing the other end to the vertical slat of the headboard. The restraint was immediate and absolute.
"Okay?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. This was the man she knew, the one who checked in, who cared.
She tested the bond, a slight tug confirming she was well and truly caught. A shiver of pure, undiluted anticipation raced down her spine. "Yes," she breathed, her voice steadier than she expected.
He took her other wrist, repeating the process with the same focused intensity. Soon, both her arms were stretched above her, the velvet soft against her skin but the reality of her confinement unyielding. He stood back for a moment, just looking at her, his gaze a physical weight tracing the lines of her body splayed out before him, utterly his to command.
"Fuck, you look perfect like this," he said, the words dripping with raw hunger. "All laid out for me. Just for me."
He climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her spread legs. He leaned down, his mouth capturing one of her nipples, sucking it hard into the heat of his mouth while his hand cupped her other breast, his thumb roughly stroking the peak. The sensation was amplified tenfold by her helplessness. She could only arch her back, a moan tearing from her throat as pleasure-pain shot directly to her core.
His mouth trailed down her stomach, a wet, burning path that made her muscles quiver. He didn't hurry. He was savoring this, savoring her complete submission. He hooked his hands under her knees, pushing her legs up and wider, spreading her open to his gaze and his touch in the most obscene way.
"Now," he said, his voice a dark promise against her inner thigh. "You're not going anywhere."
He moved away from the bed again, his shadow stretching across the wall. The drawer of the nightstand slid open with a soft rumble. She strained against the velvet ropes, trying to see what he was retrieving, the helplessness sending a fresh, sharp thrill through her. He turned back, a small, sleek black silicone toy in his hand, its shape unmistakably tapered and bulbous.
“You remember this,” he said, not asking. He held it up so the dim light caught its glossy surface.
She did. They’d bought it on a whim, a naughty secret from a boutique trip, but they’d never used it. Her breath hitched. “Seb…”
“You took my fingers so well,” he murmured, climbing back onto the bed and settling between her splayed legs. His gaze was fixed on her flushed, tender backdoor. “I think you’re ready for this.” He uncapped a small bottle of lube, the click echoing in the quiet room. The clear gel dripped onto the toy, and then onto his fingers, which he pressed against her.
The cold was a shock. She gasped as his slick finger circled her, then pressed inside, working the lube into her still-sensitive passage. It was a familiar invasion now, the soreness a bright counterpoint to the pleasure coiling deep in her belly. He added a second finger, stretching her, preparing her for the larger intrusion.
“Please,” she whispered, the word a broken thing.
“Please what?” He withdrew his fingers, the sound wet and lewd. He positioned the tapered tip of the plug against her. The silicone was cool and unyielding.
“Please, put it in.” The admission felt like surrender.
He pushed. The initial pressure was immense, a burning, stretching fullness that dwarfed the feeling of his fingers. Her body fought it, clenching tight, and a sharp cry was torn from her throat. He didn’t stop. He applied steady, relentless pressure, his thumb braced beside the toy, until the widest part of the bulb popped past her resisting muscle.
The feeling of being filled, of being stretched open and plugged, was utterly consuming. She felt a deep, throbbing fullness that seemed to radiate through her entire pelvis. He held it there for a moment, letting her adjust to the profound intrusion. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths.
“Fuck, look at that,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. He traced the base of the plug where it nestled between her cheeks. “My good girl, all filled up.”
He leaned down then, his mouth finding her clit, and he sucked it hard into his mouth. The sensation was electric, amplified exponentially by the constant, stretching pressure in her ass. She screamed, her body bowing against the restraints, the velvet ropes biting into her wrists. He licked and sucked, his tongue a ruthless instrument, while his thumb pressed against the base of the plug, rocking it just slightly inside her.
The dual stimulation was too much, a feedback loop of unbearable pleasure. Her orgasm built with terrifying speed, a tsunami gathering force deep within her. “I’m gonna come!” she shrieked, her vision blurring at the edges. “Sebastian, I’m gonna—”
He drove the plug deeper with a final, firm push and sealed his mouth over her clit. The world shattered. Her climax exploded through her, violent and raw, her cries fragmenting into wordless, guttural sounds as she convulsed around the unyielding silicone inside her.
Her body went limp, every muscle turning to liquid as the last shudders of her climax faded. The plug remained, a persistent, stretching presence that kept the echo of pleasure humming deep within her. She was aware of everything—the rough texture of the velvet ropes against her wrists, the cool air on her sweat-sheened skin, the weight of his gaze.
Sebastian watched her, his eyes dark with a feral sort of pride. He slowly withdrew the toy, the pop of its release a vulgar punctuation to her orgasm. A thin trickle of lube escaped down her thigh.
“Again,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.
Before she could even process the word, before her oversensitive nerves could stop screaming, his mouth was on her again. His tongue, flat and brutal, licked a broad stripe from her cunt to the swollen, tender flesh of her clit. She jerked against the restraints, a broken whimper the only sound she could make.
“You’re not done,” he growled against her skin, his breath hot. “You don’t get to be done until I say you are.”
His thumb found her clit, rubbing in those same rough, perfect circles, while two fingers from his other hand plunged back into her cunt. The stretch was immediate, the wet, slapping sounds of his thrusts filling the room. It was too much, too soon. Her body, still vibrating from the last peak, was catapulted towards another.
“Oh god, Seb, I can’t—” she sobbed, her hips bucking helplessly.
“You can,” he grunted, fucking her with his fingers, his thumb a relentless, circling torment. “You will. Come for me. Now.”
The pressure built, a terrifying, beautiful coil tightening in her gut. She was right there, on the precipice, her breath catching, her toes curling. The orgasm was a mere second away, an inevitable wave about to crash.
He stopped.
His hands withdrew completely. The sudden absence of sensation was a physical shock, a void more painful than any touch. A raw, frustrated scream tore from her throat. “No! Please!”
He loomed over her, his cock jutting hard and angry from his body, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. He smeared it with his thumb, his eyes locked on hers. “I decide,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Not you. Me.”
He positioned himself between her legs, the head of his cock nudging against her dripping entrance. He pushed in, just an inch, a brutal, teasing promise of fullness. She cried out, trying to arch up, to force him deeper, but the ropes held her fast.
“Please,” she begged, the word a ragged prayer. “Fuck me. Please, I need it.”
He withdrew, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. He brought his wet fingers to her lips. “Suck,” he ordered.
She did, desperately cleaning her own taste from his skin, her eyes pleading with him over his knuckles. The submission, the degradation, only fanned the flames higher inside her.
He moved down her body again, his intent clear. This time, his tongue was slower, more deliberate, tracing every fold, every sensitive nerve ending with a maddening precision. He licked into her, deep and slow, then focused on her clit with a soft, sucking pressure that was somehow worse than his earlier brutality.
The climb was slower this time, a torturous ascent. She could feel every individual thread of pleasure being woven together, tightening, coiling. She was babbling, nonsense words and his name, her body straining against the velvet bonds. She was so close. So close.
He pulled his mouth away with a wet pop, leaving her exposed and trembling in the cool air.
“Sebastian, for fuck’s sake!” she screamed, her frustration a living thing inside her chest.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. “Ask me nicely,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come,” she gasped, tears of desperation welling in her eyes. “I want your cock in my cunt, I want you to fuck me until I break. Please, Sebastian. I need to come.”
He didn’t move. He just watched her, his gaze burning into her, letting her hang there on the jagged edge of pleasure, completely at his mercy.
His silence was a weapon, sharper than any touch. It stretched between them, taut and humming, while she trembled on the precipice, every nerve ending screaming for release. Her plea hung in the air, naked and raw.
“Please, Sebastian. I need to come.”
A slow, dark smile finally curved his lips. He moved with a predator’s grace, positioning his body over hers, his knees pinning her thighs wider. The head of his cock, slick and insistent, pressed against her soaked entrance. He pushed in just an inch, a brutal, teasing promise that made her cry out.
Then he stopped.
He held himself there, a fraction inside her, his eyes locked on hers. “You’ll come when I’m buried deep in this cunt,” he growled, his voice low and rough. “Not a second before.”
With a single, devastating thrust, he sheathed himself completely inside her. The force of it knocked the air from her lungs. He didn’t pause, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm from the start. Each deep, hard drive of his hips slammed into her, the sound of their bodies meeting a wet, savage slap in the quiet room.
“This what you needed?” he grunted, his hands braced on the mattress beside her head, his muscles corded with the effort of his control. “This what you were begging for?”
“Yes! God, yes!” she sobbed, her body arching as much as the restraints allowed. The coil of pleasure, wound impossibly tight, began to spiral again, fed by the sheer, brutal fullness of him.
He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a searing, possessive kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a claiming as primal as the act itself. He tasted of her, of salt and sweat, and something uniquely him. She met his hunger with her own, a desperate, clashing of wills and need.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her cheek. “Look at me.”
Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, focused on his. The intensity in his gaze was terrifying, a mirror of the raw need consuming her.
“I want to see it happen,” he commanded, his hips never breaking their punishing rhythm. “I want to watch you break.”
His words were the final trigger. The orgasm exploded through her, a convulsive, shattering wave that ripped a guttural scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched around his cock in violent, rhythmic spasms, milking him, pulling him deeper into the maelstrom.
Feeling her climax, he drove into her once, twice more, then stilled, burying himself to the hilt. A raw, ragged groan tore from his chest as he emptied into her, his own release a hot, pulsing flood that seemed to go on forever. His body shuddered against hers, his weight a crushing, welcome anchor.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their harsh, shared breathing. He slowly collapsed onto her, his forehead resting against her shoulder. The scent of sex and sweat was overwhelming.
He shifted his weight, his hands moving to the knots at her wrists. The velvet ropes loosened, then fell away. Blood rushed back into her freed hands, a tingling, painful reminder of her captivity. He gathered her into his arms, turning them onto their sides, his cock slipping from her with a soft, wet sound.
He didn’t speak. He just held her, his hands stroking her back, her hair, his touch now reverent where it had been ruthless. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her body still humming, every muscle loose and spent.
The first grey light of dawn began to filter through the windows, painting the room in shades of silver and shadow. It illuminated the discarded velvet rope on the floor, the rumpled, damp sheets, the profound stillness they had carved out of the night.
He finally spoke, his voice a husky whisper against her hair. “Okay?”
She tilted her head back to look at him. Her smile was slow, sated, and utterly real. “More than okay.”
He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering. “Good.”
But the possessive gleam in his eyes hadn't fully faded. His hand, which had been gently stroking her back, slid up to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her lips. He looked at her mouth with a dark, renewed hunger that made her breath catch.
He shifted again, rolling her onto her back and looming over her, his body caging hers. The tenderness of a moment ago was gone, replaced by that same feral intensity.
“My turn isn’t over,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum.
He guided himself to her lips, the head of his cock, still wet with their mingled release, pressing against her mouth. “Open.”
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed without hesitation, parting her lips. He pushed forward, filling her mouth with his taste, her taste, the thick, salty evidence of their passion. It was the most debasing, intimate thing he had ever asked of her.
“Suck,” he commanded, his voice rough.
She took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the head, her lips sealing tight. The act was one of complete submission, a final surrender. He groaned, his hips moving in a slow, shallow rhythm, fucking her mouth with a possessive grace that left her no room for anything but acceptance.
He watched her, his gaze burning into her, his hand tangled in her hair, controlling the pace. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Take all of me.”
And she did.