Chapter 2: Open
The aftershocks of her climax still trembled through Zatanna’s thighs, a sweet, draining ache. Bruce’s hands remained on her hips, a solid, possessive weight. He didn’t rush. The air was thick with the scent of her release, mingling with the beeswax and incense, creating a heady, primal perfume.
“That was the warm-up,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum against her sensitized skin. He released her hips and moved to the obsidian table. The sound of him selecting tools was deliberate, metallic clicks and soft shifts that made her heart beat faster.
He returned not with his cock, but with two short lengths of black silicone strap, padded where they would grip. He knelt behind her again, his movements efficient and sure. He pressed one strap against the inside of her right buttock, just below the crease, and pulled it back, taping her cheek open. The pressure was firm, unyielding. He repeated the process on the left side, the second strap pulling her apart.
The exposure was immediate and shocking. The cool dungeon air hit parts of her that were never meant to feel it. She was spread, held open, her most private, vulnerable hole completely displayed. A flush of hot shame washed over her, so intense it felt like a fever.
“Look at the screen, Zee,” Bruce commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
She forced her heavy-lidded eyes to focus. The projection was even more obscene now. The two black straps created a stark frame, pulling the dusky, swollen flesh of her ass apart to put the pink, fluttering pucker at the very center on brutal display. It looked small, impossibly tight, and utterly helpless.
“See that?” Bruce said, his finger appearing in the frame on the screen. He didn’t touch her yet. He just pointed, the tip of his finger hovering a hair’s breadth from her exposed star. “That’s the gate. And I’m going to break it down. Not with a battering ram. With a siege.”
He finally touched her, but not with skin. The cool, slick tip of a glass wand, beaded with warm oil, pressed against her. It wasn’t a threat of penetration; it was a promise of sensation. He traced the outer ring, a slow, maddening circle that made her gasp. The glass was smooth and unrelenting.
“This is just to make you remember how good it feels to be open,” he said, his voice a hypnotic drone. He increased the pressure, not to enter, but to mold. The rounded tip pressed into the center of the tight ring, stretching it outward into a tiny, circular divot. The muscle fought, clenching instinctively around the foreign pressure, but the smooth, lubed glass was an impossible enemy. It just sat there, a cool, constant presence, demanding her body accept its shape.
“You’re clenching,” he observed, his voice calm, analytical. “It’s a reflex. A pathetic one. Your body is still trying to pretend it doesn’t want this.” He twisted the wand slightly, a minute rotation that made her cry out. The stretch was exquisite, a sharp, bright fire. “But we both know it’s a lie. Look.”
On the screen, the tiny hole was visibly distorted, stretched around the clear glass tip. It was a shocking image of violation, and it made her cunt weep.
He pulled the wand away. The sudden absence was a different kind of shock. Her asshole, over-sensitized and confused, pulsed in the open air, trying to find its original shape but failing, left slightly agape.
“But glass is too gentle,” Bruce said, discarding the wand with a soft clink. He picked up something else from the table. This one was chrome, gleaming in the candlelight. It was a blunt, bulbous plug, not large, but intimidating in its shape. “This is the first key. This is what’s going to sit inside you while I make you come on my tongue. It’s going to remind your ass what it’s for while I’m eating your pussy. It’s going to stretch you just enough to beg for the next one.”
Zatanna moaned, a low, desperate sound. The clinical description, the certainty in his voice, was undoing her faster than any touch.
He held up another toy, longer, thicker, with a gradual, insidious taper. “This one… this one is going to fuck you open. I’m going to work this into that tight little shithole until your eyes roll back. It’s going to find places inside you that have never been touched. You’re going to feel full in a way you can’t even imagine.”
He set it down with a definitive click and picked up the last one. It was massive, a brutal, knotted piece of silicone that made her breath catch in her throat.
“And this,” he said, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper, “this is the masterpiece. This is what I’m going to stuff you with once you’re begging for it. This knot is going to stretch you wider than you think possible. It’s going to lock inside you and I’m going to make you squirt around it, until you’re convinced your ass is going to tear. It won’t. I won’t let it. But you’ll scream like it is.”
He poured more oil, a generous, warming stream that trickled down the cleft of her ass, pooling against her exposed hole. He used his fingers, slick and warm, to spread it, working it into the tight, nervous ring. His touch was no longer a tease; it was preparation. A farmer tending soil.
His thumb returned, but this time it was different. It was wetter, slicker, and he applied a firm, constant pressure right at the center. He wasn’t circling. He was pressing.
He was pressing. A steady, unrelenting pressure that demanded entry without granting it. Zatanna gasped, her knuckles whitening as she fought the instinct to yield. She focused on the screen, on the image of his blunt thumbprint distorting her tightest ring of muscle.
“You’re fighting me,” Bruce observed, his voice calm, almost conversational. He increased the pressure minutely, a relentless increment of force. “I can feel it. That little star is flexing, trying to stay closed. It’s pathetic.”
She clenched harder, a conscious, defiant tightening of the muscle around the impossible pressure of his thumb. It was a game, a tease, and they both knew it. On the screen, the pink pucker visibly tightened, a tiny, wrinkled knot defying him.
“Good,” he breathed, a dark smile in his voice. His thumb began to move, not to push in, but to rub. Slow, firm circles around the outer ridge of her asshole, smearing the oil, warming the nerve-endings into a state of confused, aching awareness. “Make it tight. I want to feel every fiber strain before it gives.”
He described what he saw, his words a filthy paintbrush. “It looks like a little pursed mouth right now, all stubborn and closed. But I’m going to make it gape. I want to see it stretched so wide it looks bored, a loose, wet O that doesn’t know how to close anymore.”
His rubbing became more focused, the pad of his thumb working directly over the center of the pucker, back and forth, a brutal, slick massage. “Imagine it around my first two fingers, stuffed full, the skin pulled taut and shiny. Then imagine that chrome plug I showed you buried in there, stretching you open, making a permanent home.”
Zatanna whimpered, the vivid imagery short-circuiting her resistance. Her clench faltered for a split second, a momentary lapse of control.
Bruce seized it. He didn’t thrust. He simply maintained the constant, grinding pressure of his thumb, a siege engine against a weakened gate. He leaned close, his breath hot on her ear. “There it goes.”
On the massive screen, they both watched. Her asshole, under the relentless, slick friction, began to lose its fight. The tightly clenched star trembled. Then, with a silent, wet surrender, the very center of it yielded. It didn't open wide, but it slackened, just enough for the tip of his thumb to sink in a millimeter, creating a tiny, dark, glistening gape.
It was there for only a heartbeat, a fleeting glimpse of the inner pinkness before her muscles spasmed and tried to close again. But the breach had been made. The proof was on the screen, undeniable. He had pried her open.
The breach was microscopic, a victory measured in millimeters, but the feeling was seismic. Her body registered the invasion not as pain, but as a shocking, full-body jolt of acquiescence. That tiny, wet gape shown on the screen was a promise and a condemnation.
His thumb retreated, leaving the stunned ring of muscle to flutter helplessly in the open air. It tried to clench, to find its original, virginal tightness, but the memory of being stretched was too fresh. It remained slightly, shamefully open.
“There’s the weak point,” Bruce murmured, his voice clinical, a surgeon noting a flaw in tissue. His thumb returned, slick and warm, but this time it wasn't a blunt press. He used the very tip, probing the loosened center with an artist’s precision, feeling the resilient muscle give and then fight back. He was mapping her, learning exactly how her body would break.
Zatanna’s clit throbbed in a hard, aching rhythm that echoed the frantic pulsing of her asshole. The two sensations were connected by a live wire of pure, undiluted need. She was dripping, a hot, steady leak of arousal that painted her inner thighs and made the air smell of her surrender.
“I can smell you,” Bruce growled, the clinical tone vanishing, replaced by raw hunger. He leaned forward, his breath a hot ghost over her exposed skin. “I’m going to taste that while I’m doing this. I’m going to bury my face in your cunt and suck that swollen little clit until you scream, and all the while, my fingers will be in your ass, breaking it open.”
The image he painted short-circuited her higher brain functions. She could only moan, a low, continuous sound of wanton agreement.
“So, what’s it going to be, Zee?” he asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His thumb continued its slow, maddening circles, a constant reminder of the violation to come. “The speculum? Cold steel to pry you open and show you everything? Or my fingers, one by one, going slow until you’re begging for the next?”
The choice was a torture in itself. The speculum was a violation, impersonal and cruel. His fingers were an intimacy, a slow, deliberate wrecking ball.
“Fingers,” she gasped, the word torn from her. “Your fingers. Please. I want to feel every second of it. I want to feel my ass break open for you. Slowly.”
“Good girl,” he purred, the praise landing like a brand. He shifted his position, moving from behind her to beside her kneeling form, his body a wall of heat. He didn’t lie down, but positioned himself on his side, his face level with her dripping cunt, his hand still working her ass.
He didn’t hesitate. He lowered his mouth to her, and his tongue was a flat, hot stroke through her soaked folds. It was not a tease; it was a claim. He licked her from her trembling entrance to her throbbing clit with a languid, possessive thoroughness that made her cry out.
Then he sucked. He drew her entire clit into his mouth, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure that made her vision speckle. The pleasure was so direct, so overwhelming, it felt like a different kind of pain.
As his mouth worked its magic, his thumb at her ass changed its mission. The probing tip was replaced by the blunt, oil-slicked pressure of his index finger. He pressed it against the center of her resistance, using the same relentless, unchanging force that had won the first battle.
Her body was a chaos of conflicting signals. The exquisite suction on her clit was pulling her toward a blinding climax, while the insistent pressure at her ass was a stark, stretching counterpoint. She was being pleasured and invaded in the same breath.
Her asshole, confused and sensitized, began to tire. The fight was leaving it, worn down by his patience and the distraction of his mouth. The muscle, so tight moments before, began to soften, to yield around the tip of his finger.
Bruce increased the suction on her clit, his tongue flicking rapidly. He moaned against her, the vibration traveling straight to her core. At the same time, he pushed with his finger, a steady, incremental advance.
And then it happened. The final barrier gave way.
The tip of his index finger slid into her. The sensation was a sharp, breathtaking fullness, a violation so complete it felt like a homecoming. Her inner muscles spasmed around the intrusion, a frantic, bewildered greeting.
He held his finger there, buried to the first knuckle in her tight, hot channel, while his mouth never stopped its work on her clit. He was in her. He had broken her open. And he was only just beginning.
And he was only just beginning.
His finger remained buried in her ass, a thick, claiming presence while his mouth devoured her clit. The dual sensation was maddening, a perfect equilibrium of pleasure and violation that held her suspended on a razor’s edge. She was moaning continuously, a broken stream of sound that was part plea, part prayer.
“So tight,” Bruce growled against her wet flesh, his voice muffled. He withdrew his finger slowly, the drag an exquisite friction, then pushed it back in to the same depth. It was a shallow, rhythmic fucking, each stroke stretching the tight ring a fraction more. “This little shitpipe is sucking me in. It doesn’t want to let go.”
He lifted his mouth from her, leaving her clit throbbing and exposed. A string of saliva connected his lips to her glistening flesh for a moment before breaking. “But we’re not done with this end either.”
He reached for the obsidian table, his movements unhurried. He returned with a small, sinister-looking device made of polished black chrome. It consisted of two curved, articulated arms that met at a central hinge. “Time for you to feel properly exposed.”
“Open wide,” he commanded, his voice low.
He positioned the cold, polished arms on either side of her swollen, hypersensitive nub. With another click, the device gently but firmly spread her labia apart, pulling the hood back and fully exposing her engorged clitoris to the cool, open air. It was a shocking, vulnerable feeling, having that most sensitive part of her stretched and put on display, held open by unyielding chrome.
The chrome device held her clit in a firm, unyielding grip, stretching the plump bud out from its protective hood until it stood fully exposed, a throbbing, vulnerable pearl of raw nerve endings. She felt utterly displayed, more naked than naked, her most sensitive flesh offered up to the cool air and his merciless attention. A shudder wracked her frame, part fear, part overwhelming anticipation.
Bruce leaned in, his breath a hot contrast to the metal. He didn’t devour her this time. He was precise. His lips closed only around the exposed tip, sucking it into the wet heat of his mouth with a focused, pulling pressure that made her see stars. He suckled there, his tongue flicking rapidly over the hypersensitive apex, and Zatanna’s back arched violently against her restraints, a broken cry torn from her throat.
Then he released her with a soft, wet pop, leaving the stretched clit pulsing in the open air. He turned his head, his gaze shifting from her dripping cunt to the massive projection on the wall. His expression was one of dark, absorbed fascination. “Now, let’s check on your other project.”
His hand, slick with oil, returned to the cleft of her ass, but he didn’t resume his penetration. Instead, he held his fingers poised above her twitching, freshly breached hole. He brought his other hand down in a soft, almost casual spank, his fingers landing not on her flesh, but directly on the fluttering, over-sensitized pucker itself.
The sensation was electric, a sharp, startling slap that made her jump and gasp. It wasn’t about pain; it was a violation of expectation, a reminder of its exposed state. Her asshole clenched in a frantic, involuntary spasm, trying to retreat into itself.
“Look at that,” Bruce murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl as he watched the screen. He did it again, a soft, stinging tap of his fingers against the tight ring. “See how it jumps? It’s like a frightened little animal. It knows what’s coming.”
He spread his thumb and forefinger, placing them on either side of the clenching star. With deliberate, steady pressure, he began to pull her open. The muscles strained, fighting the slow, inexorable stretch. On the screen, her rosette was being transformed, pulled from a tight pucker into a gradually widening O of glistening pink inner flesh.
“It’s fighting me so hard,” he said, his voice thick with arousal. He increased the pressure, his thumbs digging in just beside the opening, forcing it to gape wider. “Every fiber in this tight little hole is screaming no. But the rest of you is so wet, Zee. Your cunt is dripping down your thighs because you love this. You love watching me defile you.”
He was right. The shameful, thrilling spectacle on the wall, combined with the constant, aching exposure of her clit, had her on the verge of another climax. She was panting, her body slick with sweat, her mind reduced to a single, desperate need.
“Please,” she whimpered, the word barely audible.
“Please what?” he asked, not ceasing his slow, stretching pull. His thumbs held her asshole in a wide, vulnerable gape, the inner muscles fluttering wildly against the invasion of open air. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” The denial was ripped from her, fervent and immediate.
“Then tell me what you want.” His voice was a command, leaving no room for evasion. He released the pressure, letting her asshole snap back to a looser, but still open, state. He then delivered another soft, stinging spank to the center of it, making it clench and jump again. “Use your words.”
“I want your fingers,” she gasped, her eyes glued to the screen, to the image of her own violated body. “I want them in my ass. I want to feel them stretch me open. I want you to break my hole slowly."
“I want you to break my hole slowly."
A low, approving sound rumbled in Bruce’s chest. “That’s my girl.” He shifted his weight, his body aligning perfectly with her exposed form. His left hand, slick and warm, came to rest on the curve of her ass, his thumb finding the center of her fluttering, loosened pucker. His right hand moved between her legs, his fingers sliding effortlessly through the soaked folds to find the hyper-sensitive, chrome-stretched bud of her clit.
He began to rub them both at once.
His thumb pressed a slow, circular rhythm into her asshole, a relentless, grinding pressure that promised deeper entry. At the same time, his forefinger and thumb closed around her exposed clit, rolling the swollen nub with a precise, maddening friction. The dual assault was instantaneous and overwhelming, short-circuiting her nervous system.
“This is how I break you in,” he murmured, his voice a dark, steady counterpoint to the frantic gasps she was making. His thumb on her ass worked harder, the circle tightening, the pressure increasing until the tight ring of muscle began to burn with a sharp, stretching ache. “I’m going to rub this stubborn little fuck-hole until it’s soft and dumb and begging for my cock.”
He increased the pace on her clit, his fingers moving faster, a dizzying, focused torment. “And I’m going to play with this pretty clit until you’re screaming, until you’re squirting all over this floor because your brain can’t tell the difference between the pain in your ass and the pleasure on your cunt anymore.”
Zatanna cried out, a raw, broken sound as the sensations collided and merged inside her. The sharp, stretching burn of his thumb grinding against her most forbidden entrance was somehow, filthily, amplifying the electric pleasure zinging from her clit. Her hips bucked, trying to escape and seeking more at the same time.
“They’re connected, aren’t they?” Bruce growled, watching her body convulse. He pressed his thumb harder into her ass, a brutal, claiming stamp. “Every time I push here,” he ground the pad of his thumb deep into the resisting muscle, “it sends a shock straight to here.” He pinched her clit, a sharp, delicious pain that made her sob.
“Your body is lying to you, Zee. It’s telling you this is a violation.” He resumed the simultaneous rubbing, his movements now perfectly synchronized, a cruel, exquisite rhythm. “But your cunt knows the truth. It’s dripping because it knows this tight little asshole is the key to unlocking a deeper kind of fuck. A filthy, complete kind of fuck.”
A tension, hot and coiling, was building at her core, fed from both points of contact. It was a storm gathering from two different directions, set to crash into a single, cataclysmic release. Her breath hitched in ragged sobs. “Bruce… I’m… I can’t…”
“You can,” he commanded, his voice absolute. His thumb on her ass changed its motion, no longer circling, but pressing in a firm, steady, inward push. The stretched muscle yielded another millimeter, the burning fullness intensifying. “You’re going to come. You’re going to squirt while I’m stretching this virgin ass open. You’re going to christen this dungeon with how much you love it.”
His words were the final trigger.
The orgasm detonated through her with a force that stripped away all thought. A guttural scream was torn from her lungs as her body seized, back bowing violently against the moonlight restraints. Her cunt convulsed, and a hot rush of fluid gushed from her, splattering onto the stone floor in a transparent arc. Simultaneously, her asshole clenched in a frantic, rhythmic spasm around the brutal pressure of his thumb, the sharp, stretching burn magnifying every shocking wave of pleasure until she was lost in a white-hot void of sensation.
She collapsed forward, spent and trembling, held up only by the shimmering bonds. Bruce slowly withdrew his hands, leaving her asshole throbbing and open, her clit pulsing and oversensitive. He brought his wet fingers to his lips, tasting her mixed essences.
“Now,” he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. “Now it’s ready.”