Chapter 47: Bound Feast
The late afternoon light slanted through the windows, thick and golden, catching the dust motes swirling above the velvet sofa where Ashley lay. She was on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes, the tremors from the morning finally settling into a deep, bone-ache calm. The scent of them—salt, sex, rum—had soaked into the very fabric of the room.
Footsteps echoed on the marble. She didn’t move.
“Looks like someone’s recovering,” Dominic’s voice came from the doorway. It was light, amused. She heard the clink of ice in a glass.
Carter’s deeper tone answered from closer. “She’s not recovering. She’s resting. There’s a difference.”
A shadow fell over her. She moved her arm. Carter stood beside the sofa, looking down at her with an evaluative gaze. Dominic leaned against the frame of the wide doorway, swirling a glass of whiskey. He’d showered. He looked refreshed, predatory.
“The sun’s moving,” Carter said, not to anyone in particular. “Time’s passing.”
Dominic took a sip. “And our agreement has hours left. I think we’ve been… episodic. What it needs is sustained attention.”
Carter nodded slowly. He reached down and hooked a hand under her knee, pulling her leg straight. “Up.”
She sat up, the world tilting slightly. He didn’t give her time to find her balance. He pushed her shoulders back down onto the cushions, then grasped both her ankles, spreading her legs wide and draping them over the rolled arms of the deep sofa. She was utterly opened, displayed like a specimen on the rich, navy velvet.
“Remember the rules,” Carter murmured, his hands rough on her inner thighs, holding her in place. “Your pleasure is ours to give. Or withhold.” His thumb brushed over her labia, which were still tender, swollen. “Right now, I’m choosing to study it.”
Dominic pushed off the doorframe and set his glass down on the iron table with a soft clink. He walked over, his shadow merging with Carter’s over her. “A collaborative study.” He pinned her wrists above her head with one strong hand, his grip unyielding. “Don’t move.”
They descended simultaneously.
Carter’s mouth was on her first, his tongue a flat, hot stroke right through her sensitive folds. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an inspection. He licked her from perineum to clit with deliberate, clinical slowness, his nose nudging against her. He breathed her in. “Sore,” he announced, his voice a vibration against her flesh. “Good.”
Then his tongue focused on her clit, flicking the swollen nub with a cruel, precise rhythm. It was too much, too soon, a direct assault on nerves already screaming from earlier abuse. She jerked, a broken sound escaping her lips.
Dominic’s mouth closed over her right breast. He didn’t suckle. He took the peak deep into his mouth and bit down, the sharp pressure bordering on pain. As he released, he blew cool air over the wet skin, then sealed his lips around a different spot, sucking hard, pulling the flesh deep until she knew a bruise was forming. He moved to the other breast, repeating the process, marking her.
The dual assault was maddening. Carter’s tongue worked her clit with relentless, engineering precision, coiling a tight spring of pleasure-pain low in her belly. Dominic’s mouth was a brand, claiming, hurting, reminding. She was a feast and they were consuming her by degrees. Her hips tried to buck, to seek more friction or escape it—she didn’t know which—but Carter’s hands clamped harder on her thighs, pinning her in place. Dominic’s grip on her wrists was iron.
“She’s dripping down your chin, Carter,” Dominic mumbled against her breast, his lips stained with the faint pink of broken capillaries under her skin.
“I know,” Carter grunted, not stopping his work. His tongue plunged inside her, fucking her with short, deep thrusts, then returned to circle her clit. “Tastes like she’s begging.”
“I can feel her heart trying to jump out of her chest,” Dominic said, tightening his hold. He lifted his head, admiring the dark purple blossoms on her pale skin. “Pretty.”
Carter suddenly stopped. He pulled back, his lips glistening. He looked up her body, meeting her desperate, glazed eyes. “Turn her over.”
In one fluid, brutal motion, Dominic yanked her up and shoved her forward onto her hands and knees on the sofa cushions. Before she could even register the change, Carter had produced two sets of leather cuffs from the drawer of the low table. He grabbed her right ankle, buckling a cuff snugly above the bone, then attached a short lead to a sturdy ring bolted into the heavy leg of the wrought-iron table. He did the same with her left, spreading her legs wide and anchoring her in place.
Her wrists were next. Dominic held them while Carter fastened the cuffs, then attached those leads to another set of rings on the opposite side of the table. She was now secured on all fours, bent over the table, her back arched, her ass in the air, completely and permanently exposed. The position was rigid, unyielding. She could barely move a few inches in any direction.
Dominic walked around to face her. He leaned down, his hands on his knees, bringing his eyes level with hers. Her breath hitched. He smiled, that charming, dangerous smile. “Comfortable?”
She swallowed, unable to speak.
“Your comfort is irrelevant,” Carter reminded her from behind. His hands palmed the globes of her ass, spreading them apart. The cool air of the room kissed her most private hole. She flinched.
“See that?” Dominic said, his gaze still locked on hers. “She’s scared of it. After this morning.” He traced her lower lip with his thumb. “But she’s also dripping onto the leather. Her body doesn’t know what to feel. It’s perfect.”
Carter spit, a crude, wet sound, and she felt the warm moisture against her tight ring of muscle. He pressed a blunt finger against it, not entering, just applying pressure. “This is ours,” he stated. “We used it this morning. We’ll use it again. As often as we want. It’s not a secret. It’s not a treat. It’s a standard entry point. Do you understand?”
Tears welled in her eyes. She nodded, a frantic little jerk of her head.
“Use your words,” Dominic chided softly.
“Yes,” she choked out. “I understand.”
“Good girl.” Carter removed his finger.
But the reprieve was an illusion. She heard the slide of a zipper, the rustle of clothing. Carter’s hands gripped her hips. The broad, slick head of his cock pressed not at her anus, but at her vaginal opening. He shoved into her with a single, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt in her wet, clinging heat. She cried out, the fullness a shocking relief after the tense anticipation.
He set a deep, punishing rhythm immediately, each drive pushing her forward against her restraints. The leather cuffs dug into her skin. The table scraped across the floor an inch with every thrust.
Dominic watched for a moment, his eyes dark. Then he unzipped his own shorts. He freed his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched Carter take her. “My turn,” he said, his voice thick.
Carter didn’t slow. “Where?”
Dominic stepped around to her side. He fed his cock into her mouth, his hands tangling in her hair. “Here.”
She took him, her jaw already aching. He fucked her face with slow, deep strokes, matching Carter’s pace from behind. She was a conduit again, stretched and filled and used at both ends, a living toy strung between them. The sounds filled the decadent room: the slap of skin, the creak of leather, the wet, rhythmic gulps, their low, guttural curses.
“Tight fucking cunt,” Carter grunted, pounding into her. “God, she’s clenched like a fist.”
“Sucking like she’s starving,” Dominic groaned, his hips snapping forward.
They used her in a relentless, synchronized rhythm. There was no kindness, no attempt to give her pleasure. This was functionality. This was ownership. The orgasm they had denied her that morning was a distant memory. This was about their release, their satisfaction, their absolute dominion over her body. The “feast” was not about her enjoyment, but their consumption.
Carter’s pace became erratic, his breaths coming in sharp grunts. “Gonna come in this greedy fucking hole,” he snarled. He slammed into her one final time and froze, his body rigid as he emptied himself deep inside her with a shuddering groan.
As Carter pulsed within her, Dominic pulled roughly from her mouth. He moved behind Carter, waiting. Carter, still catching his breath, pulled out. A trickle of his release slid down her inner thigh.
Without a word, Dominic took his place. He nudged Carter’s softening cock aside with his own and guided himself into her slippery, used channel. She was loose, wet, filled with Carter’s cum. Dominic sunk in with a long, satisfied sigh. “Fuck, that’s warm,” he muttered, beginning to move. “Fucking perfect.”
He fucked her with a different cadence—slower, deeper, more grinding. He reached around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed rough, rapid circles. The sensation, after so much brutal focus on penetration, was a shocking detonation. A sharp, unexpected climax tore through her, wrenching a ragged scream from her throat. Her body convulsed around his cock, milking him.
“There it is,” Dominic breathed into her ear, never stopping his thrusts or the ruthless pressure on her clit, dragging the orgasm out until it was a painful oversensitivity. “There’s the little gift. Didn’t even have to ask.” He continued to piston into her, chasing his own finish. When it hit him, he bit down on the tendon of her neck, marking her again as he spilled into the mess Carter had made.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the incessant buzz of the cicadas outside. Then, the weight lifted.
Dominic pulled out, buckling his shorts. Carter was already pouring another whiskey. They didn’t look at her. She remained as they had left her, cuffed and arched over the table, trembling, dripping.
Carter took a long drink. “Release her.”
Dominic moved with languid grace, unbuckling the cuffs from the table legs first, then from her ankles and wrists. Her limbs collapsed. She slid off the cushions onto the floor, a boneless heap on the cool marble.
Dominic looked down at her, then at his phone, which had vibrated on the table. He picked it up, his expression shifting. He showed the screen to Carter. “Speak of the devil.”
Carter peered at it. “Sloane?”
“Asking if the ‘summit’ is going well. Sending a picture of the baby.” Dominic’s face was a complex mask of irritation and something softer, almost wistful. He typed a quick reply, then dropped the phone.
He nudged Ashley’s hip with his foot. “Go clean up. We’re having dinner on the terrace in an hour.”
She couldn’t move. Every muscle was liquid.
Carter crouched beside her. He didn’t help her up. He just looked into her empty, hazy eyes. “You have forty-five minutes of the agreement left,” he said quietly. “The game isn’t over. You will stand. You will walk. You will present yourself for dinner. As ours.”
The command was a spark on wet tinder. A final reserve of obedience kicked in. Using the table leg, she pulled herself upright. Her legs shook violently. She took one step, then another, leaving a shiny trail on the dark floor as she walked, naked and broken, toward the bathroom.
Behind her, she heard Dominic pick up his whiskey glass. “Forty-five minutes,” he said. “What should we do for the finale?”
Carter’s reply was a low rumble. “Something simple. Something that reminds her what she is when the clock runs out.”
The bathroom door closed, muffling their words. She leaned against the cool porcelain of the sink, staring at the mosaic of bruises, bites, and scratches on her body in the mirror. The girl looking back was a used thing, a vessel emptied. And yet, deep in her glassy green eyes, beneath the exhaustion and the ache, a tiny, shameful ember glowed.
She had done it. She had lasted. And the validation, when it came, would be all the sweeter for the ruin it was built upon.
The water from the shower was a scalding punishment. She scrubbed mechanically, watching the evidence of them spiral down the drain. The ember in her gut, that shameful glow, refused to be extinguished. It fed on the emptiness. Forty-five minutes. She counted them in the slow drip of the faucet.
She found a simple black silk robe hanging on the door. It felt alien against her skin, a costume of normalcy. She tied it tight and walked back into the living area. The room was empty, but the terrace doors stood open. The scent of grilled meat and salt air drifted in.
They were at the table, platters of food between them, speaking in low tones. They’d changed. Carter wore linen trousers, Dominic a dark shirt, sleeves rolled. They looked like men discussing business. The ordinary scene was more disorienting than the violence. She hovered in the doorway.
“Sit,” Carter said, not looking up from his plate.
She moved to the empty chair. The wrought iron was cold through the silk. She didn’t reach for food. Her stomach was a clenched fist.
“Eat something,” Dominic advised, slicing into a rare steak. Blood pooled on the white china. “You’ll need the fuel.”
“The clock’s still running,” Carter added, finally fixing her with his dark stare. “Your submission isn’t situational. It’s constant. Even here. Especially here.”
She took a piece of bread, forcing herself to chew. It tasted like ash.
“Sloane asked when I’m coming home,” Dominic said, conversationally. He took a sip of wine. “I told her the summit wraps tomorrow. She sent another picture. The baby’s smiling.”
“That’s good,” Carter replied.
“Is it?” Dominic set his glass down, a little too hard. “It just makes the wall feel thicker. The fucking domestic portrait. Me on the outside with my dick in my hand.”
“You have the card,” Carter said, his voice low. “You’ve decided. Next week. No more discussion.”
Dominic’s eyes flicked to Ashley. “Right. No more discussion.” He leaned back, the casual mask slipping back into place. “Forty minutes. Ideas?”
Carter pushed his plate away. He looked out at the darkening garden, the first fireflies blinking to life. “Simplicity. A reminder of fundamentals. Of service.” His gaze returned to her, stripping the robe away. “On the floor. Here. Now.”
The command hung in the air. She slid from the chair, the silk whispering as it parted. The marble was unforgiving beneath her knees. She knelt between them, her head bowed, the ends of their trousers brushing her bare shoulders.
“Crawl.”
She moved forward on hands and knees, past the table, onto the slightly rougher stone of the terrace. The night air was a cool kiss on her exposed skin. Carter stood and followed. Dominic brought his wine, leaning against a pillar to watch.
“Position,” Carter said.
She knew. She arched her back, presenting herself, her forehead resting on her folded arms. The submissive geometry. A human offering.
She heard Carter kneel behind her. His hands were warm on the cold curves of her ass. He spread her, his thumbs parting her cheeks. The vulnerability was absolute. She braced for his cock.
Instead, she felt the wet, hot stripe of his tongue.
It was a long, slow, filthy lick from her perineum all the way up the tight furrow of her ass. She jerked, a shocked gasp tearing from her. He did it again, slower, his tongue pressing insistently against her most forbidden hole. The intimacy of the act, its sheer degrading thoroughness, unmoored her.
“Fucking perfect,” Carter muttered, his voice muffled against her skin. He spread her wider and pushed his tongue inside, a shallow, probing invasion that made her cry out. He ate her ass with a leisurely, devoted obscenity, licking and probing until her whole body was trembling, until the muscle began to relax under the persistent wet heat.
He pulled back with a wet sound. “Your turn.”
Footsteps. Dominic set his glass on the terrace wall. He knelt, nudging Carter aside. “My god, look at that. All pink and wet for us.” He didn’t hesitate. He dove in, his tongue flat and aggressive, fucking her with it. He alternated between sharp, pointed jabs and broad, lapping strokes that covered her entire backend.
Ashley whimpered, her fingers scraping against stone. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, shameful pleasure uncoiling in her core. This wasn’t about her clit; it was a re-wiring, a claiming of territory so private it erased all thought.
“So responsive,” Dominic grunted, pulling away. He spit onto his fingers, a thick glob that landed directly on her loosened opening. “See? It’s begging for more.” He pressed one finger against her, and with the wetness of his spit and their saliva, it slid in to the first knuckle.
The breach was stunning. A sharp, stretching fullness. He worked it in deeper, crooking his finger. She moaned, the sound torn from somewhere dark and uncharted inside her.
“Tight as a virgin,” Dominic said, twisting his finger. Carter watched, his hand idly stroking himself through his linen trousers.
“Add another,” Carter instructed.
Dominic spat again, slicking a second finger. He pressed both against her resisting ring of muscle and pushed. The stretch burned, a bright, white-hot signal of invasion. She choked on a scream, her body trying to clench against the intrusion but failing. He scissored them slowly, brutally, opening her up.
“Christ, she’s taking it,” Dominic breathed, fascinated. He pumped his fingers in and out, a crude mimicry of fuckling. The slick, squelching sounds were obscenely loud in the night.
“Enough,” Carter said. He was naked now, his cock rigid in his hand. “My turn.”
Dominic withdrew his glistening fingers. Carter moved in, his knees bracketing hers. He didn’t guide himself to her wet, waiting cunt. He placed the broad, leaking head of his cock directly at the puffy, well-used entrance of her ass.
“This,” he said, the word a final verdict, “is what you are.”
He pushed.
The initial breach was an agony of stretching, a slow, inexorable rending. She sobbed, her knuckles white. He didn’t stop. He fed himself into her inch by torturous inch, his grip on her hips brutal, holding her impaled. When he was fully seated, he stayed there, letting her body convulse around the unbelievable fullness.
“Breathe,” he commanded, his own voice strained.
She dragged in a ragged breath. The pain crested, then began to melt, transforming into a deep, pervasive sensation of being filled beyond capacity. He began to move, shallow pulls that made her see stars. Each withdrawal was a loss, each thrust a shocking reclaiming.
“Fuck,” Carter snarled, his rhythm building. “It’s like a hot, fucking fist.”
He fucked her ass with a focused, relentless intensity. The world narrowed to the brutal piston of his hips, the slap of his skin against hers, the raw, opened feeling blooming inside her. She was nothing but a sheath for his pleasure, her own reduced to a distant, irrelevant echo.
Just as the rhythm became punishing, he pulled out. The sudden emptiness was a void. Cool air rushed into the space he’d occupied.
“Switch,” Carter gasped, moving aside.
Dominic was already there, his cock slicked with spit. He didn’t pause. He aligned himself and slammed home in one vicious, claiming thrust. Ashley screamed, the fresh invasion sparking new pain. He set a faster, harder pace than Carter, pounding into her loosened channel with abandon.
“You feel that?” Dominic grunted, pounding her forward with each drive. “You feel which one of us is fucking this ass now? Tell me.”
“You!” she cried, the word ripped from her. “It’s you!”
“Damn right it is.” He pounded into her, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. The dual use, first by Carter, now by him, erased her. She was a communal vessel, a hole to be used and passed along. The degradation was complete, and in its completeness, a terrible freedom.
His thrusts became ragged, desperate. “Gonna come in this dirty shithole,” he vowed, his voice cracking. With a final, deep plunge, he roared, flooding her with his release. He held there, pulsing, grinding against her, marking the territory as his.
When he pulled out, she collapsed, a broken doll on the cold stone. They stood above her, their shadows merging in the flickering light from the villa.
Carter looked at his watch. He nudged her hip with his bare foot. “It’s over. The agreement is fulfilled.”
The words should have been a relief. They felt like a sentence being commuted, leaving her in a silent, empty cell of her own making.
“Get up,” Dominic said, his voice devoid of its earlier heat. He picked up his wine glass, finishing the last swallow. “Go to bed. We have a flight tomorrow.”
She pushed herself up, her movements stiff, animal. She didn’t look at them. She walked past the dinner table, the untouched food now cold, and back into the villa. The black robe lay pooled on the floor where she’d shed it.
She left it there.