Chapter 9: The First Pegging
The tinny, exaggerated moans from the television climaxed and faded into synth music. Silence flooded back into the room, heavy and expectant. Elena let it sit for a long moment, her feet still planted on Liam’s back. Then, with a slow, satisfied sigh, she lifted her feet and swung them to the floor.
The pressure vanished. Liam stayed prone, cheek against the carpet, breathing in dust and the faint tang of his own sweat. The leash went taut, the collar digging into his throat. “Up,” she said, a simple command. He scrambled, his body protesting, to get his knees under him. The nipple clamps swung, sending fresh zips of sensation through his chest.
She stood before him, a latex-clad monolith, the strapon jutting out with casual arrogance. She didn’t speak. She just gave the leash a gentle, insistent pull and started walking, leading him on a slow procession around the perimeter of his own living room.
“Look at you,” she said, her voice a conversational murmur. “My little pet on a leash. Do you feel owned yet?” She stopped by the window, the grey afternoon light washing over them. “Or do you need more convincing?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just tugged him along.
Near the kitchen island, she stopped again. She pointed to a spot on the polished concrete floor. A faint, damp smudge. “My sweat,” she said. “From my sock. Clean it.”
The humiliation was a live wire, singeing his nerves. He lowered his head, his tongue rough against the cool, hard floor. The taste was salty, musky, profoundly intimate. He licked until the spot was gone, the act itself a deeper submission than any binding.
“Good.” The praise was a drug. She led him on, a circuit of shame and devotion. At the armchair, she sat, spreading her legs. The harness creaked. “Look at it,” she said, guiding his gaze to the silicone cock. “This is what’s going to ruin you today. You want that, don’t you? To be ruined by me?”
He nodded, a strangled sound catching in his collared throat. “Use your words, puppy.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
She smiled, a flash of white in the dim room. The final stop was the bed. She sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under her weight. She pulled him close between her spread knees, the tip of the strapon nudging his lips. “Open.”
He did. She didn’t force it, not at first. She let him taste the silicone, run his tongue around the head. Then her hand fisted in his hair, and the leash in her other hand pulled up, constricting his airway. “Take it. All of it.”
She pushed forward. The head breached his lips, slid over his tongue. He relaxed his jaw, a skill learned in trembling secrecy. She fed him more, inch by relentless inch, until his nose pressed into the black latex of the harness, until he felt the unfamiliar pressure at the back of his throat. He gagged, his body convulsing.
“Shhh,” she soothed, her voice cruel and sweet. She held him there, deep-throated, his airway compromised by the collar. Tears sprang to his eyes. Drool escaped the sealed corners of his lips, dripping in thick strings onto her thighs and the bedspread. He gagged again, a wet, choking sound.
Then he felt her feet. Still in those damp black socks, she planted them on either side of his caged cock, which strained pathetically against its metal prison. She rubbed her soles against him, the fabric rough, the pressure maddening. The dual sensations—the choking fullness in his mouth, the teasing friction on his cock—tipped him into a whirling, helpless space. He was just a body, being used. The thought was a relief so profound it felt like sorrow.
When she finally pulled his mouth off with a soft, wet pop, he gasped, dragging air into his burning lungs. Spit slicked his chin. She didn’t give him time to recover. Standing, she led him onto the bed by the leash.
“On your stomach. Hips up.” Her voice held no room for question. He climbed onto the mattress, positioning himself as she directed, a pillow shoved beneath his pelvis. It arched his back, presented his ass. The plug inside him felt suddenly insignificant.
He heard the rustle of rope. She took his wrists first, binding them together with a series of efficient, tight knots. Then she looped the remaining length around a slat in the wooden headboard, securing him. The hemp bit into his skin, a promise of stillness. Next, each ankle. She pushed his legs apart, tying them to the bedframe with methodical care. He was spread open, anchored, completely vulnerable.
The world went dark as the blindfold settled over his eyes. Then the firm rubber ball of the gag pressed against his tongue, the straps buckling tightly at the back of his head. His own breathing became loud in his ears, a ragged, nasal sound.
Her weight dipped the mattress beside him. Her hand, cool and sure, smoothed over the curve of his ass. “Look at you,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “All trussed up for me. My perfect little fucktoy.” Her fingers traced where the plug emerged. “You’ve been wearing my gift all morning. But now, I think you’re ready for the real thing.”
He heard the slick sound of lube. A cold drip landed between his cheeks. Her fingers, slippery and insistent, worked around the plug, then gently pulled. It slid out with a slow, internal drag, leaving him feeling empty and exposed. He moaned into the gag.
Her hand came down in a sharp, stinging slap on his right cheek. “Quiet. You speak when I let you.” Another drip of lube, colder this time. Her fingers returned, not one, but two, pushing into the slick, loosened channel. He cried out, the sound muffled by rubber.
“So eager,” she crooned, scissoring her fingers, stretching him. “You’re sucking my fingers in, you greedy slut. Imagine what my cock will feel like.” She added a third, and the burn was bright, electric. He tensed, then forced himself to relax, to accept it. “That’s it. Open up for me.”
She withdrew her fingers. For a long, terrifying moment, there was nothing. Just the dark, the gag, the bite of the ropes. Then he felt it—the broad, slick head of the strapon pressing against him. It wasn’t the tentative touch of a lover; it was a declaration.
She leaned over him, her breasts pressing into his back, her lips at his ear. The leash tightened, the collar cutting off his air. “Beg for it,” she breathed, her voice a filthy, hot promise. “Nod if you want my cock in your ass.”
He nodded frantically, desperately, his hips pushing back involuntarily against the relentless pressure.
“Use the word. Beg.”
He strained against the gag, the sound incoherent.
She loosened the leash a fraction. He sucked in air and formed the word around the rubber ball, the sound guttural, torn from the core of him. “Please!”
“Please, what?”
“Please… fuck me!” he rasped, the obscenity freeing in its humiliation.
“Good boy.”
She released the tension on the leash and pushed.
The head breached him, a slow, impossible invasion. The stretch was profound, a burning fullness that went deeper than the plug, different than fingers. He cried out, the sound swallowed by the gag. She didn’t stop. She fed it to him with a relentless, controlled pressure, an inch, then another, until he was certain he would split open. She paused, buried to the hilt, letting his body shudder and adjust around the foreign girth. Her weight was fully on him, her breath hot on his neck.
“It’s in,” she whispered, awe and possession in her tone. “My cock is all the way inside you. You’re mine now. Every fucking inch of you.”
Then she began to move.
Then she began to move.
She pulled her hips back with agonizing slowness, the silicone dragging against his inner walls until only the tip remained inside him. She held there, teasing, and he pushed back against the ropes, desperate to feel her fill him again. She gave him nothing. Just that burning pressure, that unbearable emptiness.
When she thrust forward again, it was quick, brutal. The full length of her slammed into him, the head of the strapon striking something deep inside that sent a white-hot bolt of pleasure up his spine. He screamed into the gag, his body convulsing, the ropes biting into his wrists and ankles as he strained against them.
"There it is," she purred, pulling out again. "There's that spot. The one that makes you forget your own damn name." She drove in again, hitting the same place with surgical precision. His vision whited out behind the blindfold. "You're going to be a sloppy, drooling mess by the time I'm done with you."
She set a rhythm. Slow, deep strokes that let him feel every inch as it sank into him. She altered the angle each time, searching, hunting. The subtle shifts sent different sparks through his nerves, and he moaned into the gag, his hips trying to match her tempo despite the restraints.
The third stroke found the spot again. She noticed the way his whole body clenched, the way a desperate, muffled sob escaped him. She aimed for it deliberately now, each thrust grinding against that bundle of nerves until he was trembling, his hands twisting uselessly in their bindings. The caged cock between his legs leaked continuously, smearing his thighs.
"That's it," she said, her voice low and raw. "You love this, don't you? Love being spread open on my cock. Love being tied up and fucked like my little toy."
He nodded as much as he could, the movement ragged and desperate. She rewarded him with a harder thrust, her hips slapping against his ass. The sound echoed in the room, obscene and wet. She pulled the leash taut, the collar pressing into his windpipe again, forcing him to gulp for air around the gag.
"Say it," she demanded, loosening the leash just enough. "Take the gag out. I want to hear you say it."
Her fingers worked the buckle at the back of his head. The ball slipped from his mouth with a wet pop, and he gasped, air flooding into his lungs. Spit coated his lips, his chin.
"Say it, puppy."
"I love it," he rasped, his voice cracked and throaty. "I love your cock, Goddess. Please. Fuck me harder."
She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. Her other hand gripped the leash. She pulled out almost completely, then slammed forward with brutal force. He cried out, the sound sharp and raw, half pain and half ecstasy.
"That's better," she growled. "Now I can hear how much of a whore you are for this cock."
She fucked him harder. The strokes became punishing, each one hitting his prostate dead-on. His moans pitched higher, becoming almost feminine, desperate little cries that spilled from his lips between filthy pleas. "Yes, there, please, don't stop, don't ever stop—"
"You want me to cum inside you? Want my fat strap to fill you up?" She slapped his ass, the skin already reddening. "Want me to wreck this pretty little hole until you can't think straight?"
"Yes, Goddess! Please!" He was babbling now, his mind dissolving. "Fill me up, ruin me, I'm yours, I'm yours—"
She rode him harder, her rhythm quickening until it was a savage, relentless pounding. She leaned forward, her lips at his ear, her voice a filthy pant in his ear. "You're perfect like this. Lost. Needful. My good little slut."
Her fingers found the cage around his cock, tapping the metal. He whimpered, his trapped erection throbbing painfully. "Look at you. You can't even get hard without me letting you. And you still want to cum, don't you? Pathetic."
"Yes," he sobbed. "Yes, Goddess. Please let me cum."
She pulled out, the absence sudden and cruel. He heard her shift, heard the sound of a drawer opening. A moment later, a low hum filled the air. Something cold and buzzing pressed against his caged cock.
"I'm going to make you cum so hard you black out," she whispered, securing the vibrator to the cage with a strap around his hips. The buzzing intensified, pressing directly against the metal, vibrating through to the sensitive flesh beneath.
She positioned the strapon at his hole again. "You'll take my cock while I make you cum. And you'll thank me for it."
She thrust in, burying the full length of her in one smooth stroke. The vibrator buzzed against his trapped cock, a maddening, mechanical vibration that spread heat through his groin. It was too much. Not enough. He was drowning in sensation.
She didn't go slow this time. She pounded into him like a machine, the bed slamming against the wall. The vibrator dug into his caged flesh, and he screamed a long, incoherent sound as the pressure inside him built and built.
"Fucking take it," she snarled, pulling the leash tight, choking him. "Cum for me. Cum like the desperate little bitch you are."
The pressure crested. His entire body arched against the ropes, his mouth open in a silent scream. Cum erupted from the cage—not in the thick ropes of a normal orgasm, but in a pulsing, gushing stream, forced out through the metal bars. It sprayed between his legs, soaking the sheets beneath him, a submissive fountain.
His vision went black behind the blindfold. The orgasm ripped through him, wave after wave, her cock still pounding inside him. She fucked him through it, unrelenting, until he collapsed, limp, his body still jerking from the aftershocks.
She slowed, stopping at last, buried deep within him. She held there for a long moment, both of them panting. Then she withdrew, a slow, deliberate slide.
She worked the ropes free, first his ankles, then his wrists. She lifted the blindfold, and the dim light of his living room flooded back into his vision, blurry and raw. She removed the collar last, kissing the red mark it had left.
Then she was beside him, still in the harness, pulling him against her. She kissed his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth.
"You did so well," she whispered, her voice soft. "My good boy."
He couldn't speak. He just pressed his face into her neck, breathed her in, and let the silence hold them.