Chapter 4: Beg
The silence in the dungeon was profound, broken only by the crackle of candles and Zatanna’s ragged, receding breaths. She felt hollowed out, her body a map of tremors and oversensitive nerve endings. Bruce’s finger was gone, but the ghost of its intrusion remained, a persistent, stretching ache deep inside her.
His hand, warm and heavy, rested on the small of her back, a anchor in the sea of her submission. He didn’t speak, letting the aftermath of her shattering orgasm settle around them like dust.
Then, his voice cut through the quiet, calm and impossibly steady. “Now, ask for it.”
Zatanna’s eyes, half-lidded and hazy, refocused on the high-definition screen. Her own ass was displayed there, the pale skin flushed a deep pink, the tiny, winking hole looking puffy and used. A fresh trickle of lubricant gleamed on her inner thigh.
“Ask for what?” she whispered, the words thick in her throat.
His thumb stroked a slow, possessive circle over her spine. “You know. You want to feel more. You want to watch that pretty little hole stretch until it doesn’t look like yours anymore. So ask me. Beg me to fuck your ass with my finger.”
A fresh wave of heat, shameful and intense, washed through her. Her cunt, thoroughly used and still throbbing, clenched around nothing. She was the Mistress of Magic, a woman who commanded reality with a backwards whisper, and here she was, splayed and taped, about to beg for a finger in her ass. The dichotomy was as potent as any aphrodisiac.
She swallowed. “Please, Bruce.”
“Not good enough.” His voice held no anger, only an unyielding expectation. “Use your words. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
She took a shuddering breath, her eyes locked on the screen, on the image of her own vulnerability. “Please… fuck my ass with your finger. I need to feel it. I need to watch it stretch for you.”
“Good girl.”
The praise was a bolt of lightning to her core. He reached for the bottle of lubricant again. The sound of the cap snapping open was obscenely clinical. The cool gel dripped onto her, a shock against her heated skin. He smoothed it over her, his touch deliberate, coating the puffy, exposed ring of muscle until it shone under the candlelight.
He didn’t tease this time. He pressed the pad of his index finger directly against her entrance, and with a steady, relentless pressure, he began to push.
Zatanna’s breath hitched. On the screen, she watched her body yield. The tight pucker distended, stretching into a thin, glistening O around the invading digit. He worked it in exquisitely slowly, a millimeter at a time, allowing her to feel every fraction of the stretch, every fine thread of muscle fiber surrendering to his will.
“Oh, god…” she moaned, the sensation a bright, sharp line of pleasure-pain that connected directly to her clit.
He buried his finger to the hilt, and she felt a profound, shocking fullness. He held it there, letting her adjust to the intrusion, his other hand coming up to knead the flesh of her buttock. “Look at that,” he murmured. “Look how it takes me. All the way.”
Then he moved. He withdrew slowly, almost completely, until just the tip remained, her hole clinging to him desperately. Then he pushed back in, a smooth, steady thrust that punched a soft, choked cry from her lungs. He set a rhythm, a deep, deliberate finger-fuck that was both a violation and a claiming.
His other hand moved from her buttock to her actual anus itself. His thumb found the stretched, straining ring of muscle where his finger was buried inside her. He began to press and knead the puffy, sensitive flesh around the base of his penetrating finger, manipulating her from the outside as he fucked her from within.
The dual sensation was overwhelming. The internal friction of his finger moving in and out was coupled with the external pressure of his thumb stretching the very entrance he was violating. It was too much. It was everything.
“It’s getting so soft,” he observed, his voice a low rumble of approval. He increased the pace of his thrusting finger, the wet, slick sounds filling the room. His thumb worked her open wider, rubbing and pressing until the resistance truly began to melt away, replaced by a pliant, heated readiness. “Losing its fight. Becoming my perfect, little fuck-hole.”
Zatanna could only whimper, her body arching, her hands straining against the soft leather cuffs. Her world had narrowed to the image on the screen—the relentless, glistening penetration—and the feeling of being utterly remade from the inside out. A fresh, hot gush of fluid seeped from her cunt, proof of the dark, deep pleasure he was wringing from her.
He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as his finger pistoned into her. “You’re ready for the steel now, aren’t you?”
All she could do was nod, a frantic, desperate motion.
“I know,” he said, and she could hear the dark smile in his voice. He gave one last, deep thrust of his finger, burying it to the knuckle and holding it there, stretching her to her absolute limit, before slowly withdrawing.
The feeling of emptiness was shocking. She felt open, gaping, her body craving the fullness he had just taken away. She was panting, her skin slick with sweat, her mind blissfully blank.
Bruce picked up the speculum from the chrome tray. The cold, polished steel gleamed in the candlelight. He held it in front of her face, letting her see the intricate mechanism, the cruel, smooth blades.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was both a promise and a threat. “We open you up for good.”
The cold steel of the speculum brushed against her inner thigh, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of her skin. Zatanna flinched at the touch, a fresh wave of anticipation and fear coiling tight in her gut. Her cunt, utterly neglected and throbbing, betrayed her with another hot, slick pulse that dripped onto the leather beneath her.
Bruce placed the instrument back on the tray with a soft, definitive click. He leaned over her, his broad chest covering her back, and his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Not yet,” he breathed, his voice a low vibration against her skin. “First, I want to feel you give way completely.”
His hand, slick with lube, returned to her ass. He didn’t reach for the speculum. Instead, he pressed two fingers firmly against her already-stretched entrance. The pressure was immense, a blunt, overwhelming demand.
“This tight little pucker is still putting up a fight,” he murmured into her ear, his other hand sliding between her legs to cup her soaked cunt. He rubbed his palm over her swollen lips, smearing her own wetness. “It needs to learn. It’s not an innocent hole anymore, it’s a hungry one. It needs to be stuffed.”
His words sent a jolt straight to her core. Her hips bucked against his hand, a silent, desperate plea. The obscene, loving filth falling from his lips was unmaking her faster than any spell.
“Watch the screen, Zee,” he commanded, his voice gentle but absolute. “Watch your pretty hole stretch until it doesn’t look like yours.”
He pushed. The burn was exquisite, a sharp, tearing sensation as the twin digits forced their way past the resistant ring of muscle. Her breath seized in her lungs. On the projection, she saw her body being forcibly opened, the pink, wrinkled star distorting into a strained, glistening oval around the thick base of his two fingers.
“There,” Bruce growled, his voice thick with arousal. He held them there, buried to the knuckles, stretching her impossibly wide. “It’s losing its fight. It’s becoming my perfect, little fuck-hole, isn’t it?”
He began to move, a slow, devastating scissoring motion inside her. The stretch was unbearable, a deep, internal burn that flooded her system with endorphins and raw need. She was panting, mewling, her body convulsing around the invasion.
“So sloppy for me,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder, her neck, as his fingers worked her open. “Your pussy is dripping just from me talking about ruining this ass. You love it. You love becoming this for me.”
He was right. The feeling of being utterly possessed, of her most private, tightest part being reshaped for his pleasure, was the most potent aphrodisiac she had ever known. A guttural, broken sound tore from her throat as another orgasm, brutal and unexpected, ripped through her. Her ass clenched violently around his stretching fingers, milking the sensation, while her cunt spilled its wetness over his other hand.
The violent clenching of her orgasm subsided, leaving her asshole a throbbing, oversensitive ruin around his two buried fingers. Bruce didn’t withdraw them. He held them there, a deep, stretching presence inside her, while her body shuddered through the final waves.
“Look at that,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. On the screen, her anus was a distended, puffy O, glistening and reddened from the relentless stretch. “It’s trying to cling to me. It doesn’t want to let go.”
He slowly, carefully, began to withdraw his fingers. The sensation of being emptied was almost as intense as being filled. Her hole, overstimulated and raw, felt loose, gaping, a ghost of its former tightness. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped her lips at the loss.
Bruce brought his glistening fingers to his lips, tasting her without breaking eye contact with her on the screen. “It’s learning. But it’s not there yet.” He reached for the lube again, the sound routine now, and dripped a fresh, cool stream directly onto her exposed, twitching pucker.
He smoothed it over her with a single, proprietorial thumb, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the strained ring of muscle. He applied no pressure to enter, just this maddening, external stimulation. “It needs to ask,” he said, his tone conversational. “It needs to beg for what comes next.”
Zatanna’s breath hitched. The emptiness inside her was a tangible ache. The gentle, circling thumb was a tease that promised nothing, a torment that made her hips shift involuntarily against the cold leather. “Bruce, please…”
“Please what?” His thumb paused. “Be specific. What does this hungry, little hole want?”
She swallowed, her pride a distant memory. “It wants… it wants you to dominate it.”
“How?” His thumb resumed its slow, circular torture, skating around the edge but never pressing in. “With my fingers? You’ve had those. With the speculum? That’s a given.” He leaned close, his breath hot on her ear. “Tell me what it truly craves. Use the words.”
The filth he demanded was the final key. “It wants your cock,” she gasped, the admission tearing from her. “It wants you to ruin it. It’s begging for you to fuck it raw and empty your come inside.”
A low, gratified sound rumbled in his chest. “Good girl.” His thumb finally pressed inward, not to enter, but to test the give. Her body yielded easily, the muscle pliant and eager. “Now it’s ready.”
He picked up the speculum. The cold, polished steel touched her inner thigh, and she jumped. He held her hip firm, his grip unyielding. “Now we see what all that begging has earned you.” The cold, blunt tips of the blades pressed against her thoroughly prepared entrance.