Chapter 72: Oral Penance
The low light in the living room pooled like honey, catching the dust motes swirling in the air Carter had disturbed. He sat naked in the deep leather armchair, a king on a worn throne. One hand held a heavy crystal glass of amber liquid, resting on the chair’s arm. The other was buried in Ashley’s blonde hair, guiding, controlling the rhythm of her penance.
She was between his spread thighs, her face pressed into the cleft of his ass. Her tongue worked in slow, devoted circles over his hole, a tight, muscled knot she was determined to soften with spit and shame. Her world had narrowed to this: the taste of salt and soap, the subtle musk of him, the coarse hair against her cheeks, the overwhelming pressure of his hand on her skull. She could feel the cool air on her own exposed back, the lingering ache in her throbbing ass from his belt, the soreness inside her from his brutal reclamation. They were grounding pains, anchors. This act, this demeaning service, was the only thing that made sense.
“You understand why you’re there, don’t you?” Carter’s voice was a low rumble above her, conversational, almost relaxed. He took a sip of his whiskey.
She moaned in affirmation, the vibration against his skin making him shift slightly. She redoubled her efforts, flattening her tongue and licking a broad, wet stripe from his taint up to the base of his spine.
“Because you got confused,” he continued. “You let Alexander’s little experiments make you forget your fundamental programming. You’re not a toy he gets to break and I get to fix.” His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her in harder, grinding her face against him. “You’re a toy I let him borrow. And when you came back whining for me to put you together, you insulted my craftsmanship.”
A whimper escaped her, muffled by his flesh. It wasn’t from pain, but from the stark truth of it. She had insulted him. She had dared to imply his creation was fragile. Her tongue probed deeper, seeking entry, wanting to express her understanding in the only language she had left.
“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise like a shot of warm liquor in her veins. “You’re learning. This is your apology. This is you remembering your place isn’t in my lap, being comforted. It’s on your knees, servicing me.”
He relaxed his grip, letting her breathe for a second. She panted, her lips slick and swollen, her eyes glazed. She didn’t wait for another command. She dove back in, her nose nudging against his balls as she focused solely on his asshole, licking and sucking at the tight ring of muscle until it began to give, to soften under her persistent, wet attention.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Carter sighed, his head rolling back against the leather. “Just like that. Taking your medicine. You love it, don’t you? You love being my filthy little ass-licker. It’s where you feel most useful.”
“Yes,” she breathed against him, the word hot and damp. “I love it. I’m sorry, Carter. I’m so sorry I was clingy.”
“Sorry isn’t a feeling,” he said, his tone turning sharp again. “Sorry is an action. This,” he pressed her face forward, “is an action. And your action later, when I decide to use you, will be the real apology.”
He shifted in the chair, spreading his legs wider. “Now get your tongue inside me. Show me you mean it.”
With a desperate, grateful sob, she obeyed. She pointed her tongue and pushed, breaching the tight furl of muscle. The taste was intensely, intimately him. She worked her tongue in and out in a shallow, mimicking fuck, her own neglected cunt clenching around nothing at the thought. She was wet, she was always wet for him, but especially now, humiliated and aching and so desperately eager to please.
“Mmmm,” Carter groaned, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated through his body and into hers. “That’s my girl. You can take a fucking brutal ass-fucking from a stranger and come for him, but you come alive like this, don’t you? On your knees, eating my ass like it’s your last meal.”
He finished his whiskey and set the glass down with a soft clink. His free hand trailed down from her hair, over her neck, between her shoulder blades, coming to rest on the red, welted skin of her ass. He traced a welt gently, then pressed his thumb into a particularly dark bruise.
She gasped against him, her tongue stilling for a second at the sharp burst of pain-pleasure.
“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his thumb digging deeper. “You think about this later, when I’m fucking you. You think about my hand on these marks, reminding you who made them. Who owns them.”
She moaned, the sound long and ragged, and resumed her lapping, her tongue plunging deeper, faster. She was lost in the rhythm, in the degradation, in the paradoxical safety of his absolute control. This was clarity. This was purpose.
“When you’re done with your dessert,” Carter said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, thick with anticipation, “I’m going to bend you over this same chair. I’m going to look at this perfect, red, well-used ass of yours, still wet from your own tongue. And I’m going to ignore that desperate, dripping cunt of yours. You hear me? I’m going to ignore it completely.”
A shiver wracked her body. Her hips gave an involuntary jerk, seeking friction against the cool leather of the chair leg.
“I’m going to take my cock,” he continued, his thumb now circling her swollen clit through her folds, making her jerk and whine, “which is harder than fucking diamond right now because of what you’re doing, and I’m going to push it right back into your tight, sore little ass. The same ass Alexander fucked. The same ass I reclaimed in the car. The same ass I’m going to fuck every night this week until the thought of anyone else touching it makes you sick.”
He slipped two fingers inside her cunt suddenly, and she cried out, her back arching. She was so wet his fingers slid in effortlessly, curling to find that spot that made her vision blur.
“You feel that?” he growled, pumping his fingers slowly, deliberately. “That’s your cunt, begging for attention. And I’m going to deny it. I’m going to fuck the other hole while this one weeps. I’m going to make you come from your ass alone, just like I did in the car. You’re going to scream, Ashley. You’re going to scream because it hurts and you’re going to scream because it feels so fucking good to be used exactly the way you’re meant to be used.”
His words were a prophecy she needed to fulfill. Her orgasm coiled low in her belly, triggered not just by his fingers but by the vivid, humiliating picture he painted. She was teetering on the edge, her tongue still working robotically on his hole.
“You want that, don’t you?” he demanded, his fingers stilling inside her, denying her the final friction. “You want me to hurt you? To use your ass like a fuck-toy and let your cunt ache?”
“Yes!” she begged, the word torn from her throat. “Please, Carter, yes! I want it! I want to be your toy! I want you to fuck my ass! I need it!”
“Good,” he said, his voice final. He withdrew his fingers from her cunt with a slick pop and removed his hand from her hair. “Then finish your job. Make me ready for you.”
With a last, fervent effort, she devoted herself completely to his ass, licking and sucking and probing until he was slick with her saliva, until his muscle was relaxed under her ministrations. He let her work, his breathing becoming heavier, his own control slipping.
Finally, he pushed her head away. “Enough.”
She fell back onto her heels, her lips glistening, her chest heaving. She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and shattered, full of a worship that bordered on madness.
He stood up, his erection jutting out, thick and veined and leaking at the tip. He turned the armchair around so its high back faced the room. “Bend over. Grab the sides.”
She scrambled to her feet, her body trembling with anticipation and exhaustion. She positioned herself, bending at the waist, her sore ass presented to him, her wet cunt exposed but, as promised, ignored. She gripped the cool leather sides of the chair, her knuckles white.
He didn’t prepare her further. He didn’t touch her cunt. He stepped behind her, one hand going to the small of her back to hold her in place, the other guiding his cock. The blunt, broad head pressed against her spit-slicked asshole.
“This is your place,” he said, and shoved forward.
The breach was a fiery, stretching agony. She was still sore from the car, from Alexander. Her cry was a sharp, broken thing. He didn’t pause. He leaned his weight into her, splitting her open, sinking deeper and deeper until his hips met the burning flesh of her ass.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his own breath catching. “Even after all that, it’s like fucking a vise. You’re perfect.”
He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace from the first stroke. Each thrust was a searing reminder. Of his ownership. Of her worthlessness outside of this. Of the pain she craved from him. The leather of the chair creaked under her grip. Her tears fell silently onto the seat cushion.
“This is my ass,” Carter grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard, surely leaving new bruises over the old. “Mine. Alexander just rented it. I own the fucking property.” He punctuated each word with a deep, grinding thrust. “You feel me in there? Deeper than he got?”
She could only nod, her voice stolen by the relentless invasion.
“I asked you a question, whore.” He spanked her ass, a sharp crack landing on the already tender skin, making her shriek.
“Yes! Yes, I feel you! Deeper!” she screamed.
“And your cunt?” he demanded, reaching around to roughly cup her mound, his fingers sliding through her slick folds but avoiding her clit. “It’s empty, isn’t it? It’s weeping. It’s fucking jealous of this ass getting all my attention.”
It was true. The ache between her legs was a physical anguish, a hollow craving that made the anal fullness even more torturously acute. Her body was a paradox of denied need and overwhelming sensation.
He fucked her harder, his balls slapping against her wetness with every drive. The sound was obscene, wet and sharp in the quiet room. He was hitting that spot inside her, the one that sent lightning through her core. The pain began to mutate, twisting into a coiling, impossible pleasure. Her breaths came in ragged sobs.
“You’re gonna come,” he snarled, his pace becoming erratic, frantic. “You’re gonna come from getting your asshole wrecked. You’re gonna scream my name, not his. You’re gonna flood this chair with your tears and your spit and you’re gonna thank me for it.”
The pressure built, terrifying and exquisite. It wasn’t the winding climb of a normal orgasm. It was a detonation waiting to happen, built on a foundation of pain and humiliation and desperate submission. Her muscles began to clamp around him, involuntary rhythmic contractions that milked his cock.
“Carter!” she screamed, the name a plea and a surrender.
It broke her. The orgasm ripped through her with violent, shattering force. Her vision whited out. Her scream was raw, endless. Her ass convulsed around his pounding length, her cunt pulsing with empty, agonizing waves of release. She collapsed forward over the back of the chair, her arms giving out, but he held her hips up, driving into her through the quaking, relentless shudders of her climax.
He kept fucking her, his hips hammering against her tender flesh even as her muscles fluttered and clenched in the dying waves of her orgasm. The overstimulation was a sharp, bright agony that blurred into something else, a dizzying float where pain and pleasure lost their borders. She whimpered, a high, broken sound, her body going limp in his grasp.
“That’s it,” he grunted, his own rhythm faltering as he felt her collapse. “Let it all out. Come all over nothing.”
With a final, deep thrust, he stilled inside her, holding himself there as her shudders subsided into twitches. He stayed buried for a long moment, letting her feel the full, intrusive weight of him. Then, with a wet, slow sound, he pulled out.
The sudden emptiness was almost as shocking as the penetration. Cool air hit her ravaged opening, making her gasp. He didn’t give her time to process it.
His hands hooked under her arms, hauling her upright. She was boneless, her legs uncooperative. He half-dragged, half-carried her away from the chair, her feet sliding on the rug still damp from her earlier humiliation. He guided her down onto her back on the deep, emerald velvet of the sofa. The fabric was cool and rough against her scorched skin.
He pushed her legs up, bending her knees toward her chest. He held them there, his hands like manacles around her ankles, spreading her wide open. From this angle, everything was exposed. Her flushed, swollen cunt, glistening and utterly untouched. The darker, puffy rose of her asshole, red and gaping slightly from his withdrawal.
“Look at this,” Carter said, his voice thick with a possessive hunger. He wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to himself, admiring his own work. “Look at this desperate, pretty little pussy. Throbbing. Begging. And I’m not going to give it a goddamn thing.”
He positioned himself between her thighs, the head of his cock, slick with her ass and his own fluid, nudging against her back entrance again. He pushed in slowly this time, a relentless, stretching re-entry that forced a long, low moan from her chest. He seated himself fully, his gaze locked not on her face, but on the obscene junction of her body below.
Held open like this, he could see everything. He watched his own cock disappear into the tight, used hole of her ass. He watched the parallel lips of her cunt pulse with her heartbeat, a tiny bead of clear fluid welling up and tracing a path down her perineum.
“Watch it drip,” he commanded, beginning to move. His thrusts were deep and measured, a piston-like rhythm that shifted her whole body on the couch. “Watch your cunt cry because it’s not getting fucked.”
Ashley tried to look, but the sensation was overwhelming. The angle was different, deeper. Each inward stroke pressed against something internal, a spot that sent not pain, but a strange, numbing electricity down her legs. She whimpered, her head rolling back against the armrest.
“Eyes here,” Carter snapped, his tone brooking no argument.
She forced her gaze down, past the tremble of her own belly, to where he was joined to her. The visual was brutal. His thick shaft, glistening wet, driving into the forbidden entrance. Her own wetness, undeniable proof of her arousal, seeping from her neglected cunt and trailing down toward that point of violent joining. A silvery thread of it reached the stretched rim of her asshole, mingling with his own lubrication, making his thrusts smoother, deeper.
“There,” he breathed, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. “It’s leaking right to where I am. Your pussy is feeding my dick in your ass. That’s all it’s good for now.”
He adjusted his angle minutely, lifting her hips higher. The change was immediate and catastrophic. The head of his cock grazed a cluster of nerves deep inside her that sent a jolt so intense her vision sparkled. Her legs jerked in his grip, a violent spasm.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, a dark grin spreading across his face. He found that angle again and held it, spear fucking her with short, precise thrusts aimed directly at that spot.
A strange numbness began to spread through Ashley’s thighs, a tingling absence of feeling as if her legs were falling asleep. It was a direct result of the relentless pressure, the overwhelming neurological signal screaming from her core. Her cunt, however, felt everything. It wept steadily, a continuous stream now that slicked her inner thighs and the base of his thrusting cock.
“Legs gone?” Carter asked, his breath coming in harsh pants. He didn’t wait for an answer. He could see it in the boneless way her limbs rested in his hands, in the dazed vacancy of her eyes. “Good. You don’t need them. You just need to lie there and take it. Be my perfect, dripping little anal slut.”
He settled into a punishing rhythm, each drive aimed with surgical precision at that deep, paralyzing place. The sound was a wet, rhythmic slap of flesh, her slickness making the assault on her ass smoother, more profound. She was babbling, incoherent pleas and affirmations tumbling from her lips.
“Carter… please… it’s too… I can’t…”
“You can,” he grunted, sweat beading on his forehead. “You are. You’re taking it so fucking deep. Your pussy is a fountain. Look at it.”
She looked. The sight of her own desire, so blatantly displayed and so utterly ignored, pushed her toward another precipice. This orgasm wouldn’t be a shattering explosion. It was a slow, submersive flood, rising from that numb, electric nexus he was battering inside her. It drowned her from the inside out, a warm, silent wave of submission that left her breathless and blank.
He felt her internal muscles clamp down in a slow, deep pulse around him and it shattered his control. With a final, guttural snarl, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his release hot and violent inside the deep channel of her ass. He held himself there, pumping into her, his grip on her legs vice-like.
When he finally pulled out, the sound was obscenely wet. He released her legs and they dropped bonelessly to the sofa, utterly useless. He stood over her, looking down at the wreckage. Her ass was a bruised, wet mess. Her cunt still glistened, untouched and twitching.
He reached down and swiped two fingers through the slickness on her inner thigh, bringing them to his mouth. He tasted her, his eyes holding hers.
“Salty,” he said, his voice rough but calm. “Like tears.” He let his hand fall. “Now you’re empty of everything but me. Even your own come belongs to me.”
He turned and walked towards the hallway, leaving her sprawled on the velvet. “Don’t move,” he called back, not looking at her. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He returned a few minutes later, a shadow moving through the dim room. He’d pulled on a pair of black sweatpants, low on his hips. In his hand was a clean white towel. He stopped at the foot of the sofa, looking down at her. She hadn’t moved. She couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. Her body was a disconnected map of pain and lingering, violent pleasure. Her legs were still splayed open, one foot on the floor, the other bent on the cushion. They felt like distant, numb things.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice calm. “Completely wrecked.” He tossed the towel onto her stomach. “Clean yourself up.”
Ashley’s hands trembled as she picked up the towel. She wiped clumsily at the slickness between her legs, the cool cotton a stark contrast to her heated skin. Every movement sent a fresh wave of oversensitivity through her core. She flinched as she dabbed at her tender asshole.
“Not like that,” Carter said, watching her. “Properly. Get it all.”
She took a shaky breath and obeyed, wiping more thoroughly, the towel coming away soaked. The simple task felt monumental. When she was done, she let the towel fall to the floor, her arms leaden.
“Now get up,” he said.
A flicker of panic, cold and sharp, cut through her fog. “I… I can’t.”
“That wasn’t a question.” His tone offered no room for debate. It was flat, expectant.
Ashley swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet room. She tried to bend her knees, to roll onto her side. The muscles in her thighs responded with a weak, painful twinge, then a violent cramp. A gasp escaped her. Her legs felt foreign, filled with static and a deep, humming ache.
“My legs,” she whispered, her voice ragged. “They’re… they’re not working right.”
“They’re in shock,” Carter stated, as if diagnosing a faulty appliance. “The nerves got overloaded. You need to reboot the system.” He walked around the sofa and stood beside her. “Sit up first. Use your arms.”
She pushed herself up on shaking arms, dragging her numb lower half with effort. Sitting upright made her head swim. The room tilted.