Chapter 3: Ring-Gagged & Throat-Stuffed
The red rubber ball popped free with a wet sound, letting Cora’s jaw ache in relief for only a second before Arthur’s cold, steel fingers prised her mouth open again. He fitted the cold, thick ring between her teeth, buckling the strap at the back of her skull until her jaw was forced wide into a rigid, straining circle. Spit pooled instantly on her tongue, dripping down her chin.
Another man stepped forward, his cock thick and already beading. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on her stretched, vulnerable mouth.
“Just guide yourself in,” Arthur said calmly, his hand on the small of the man’s back. “Her throat’s a trained hole. It’ll swallow you whole.” His fingers trembled as he gripped his shaft, his other hand tangling in Cora’s dark hair. He fed the broad, purple head past the steel ring, the hot crown smearing her lower lip.
He pushed. Her throat, anticipating the intrusion, opened reflexively, but the sheer size of him stretched her esophagus in a new, raw way. He groaned, his hips jerking forward, and slid deeper, the thick vein along his underside scraping against her soft palate. “Fuck, her throat’s so tight,” he choked out, burying himself to the root.
He began to fuck her face in earnest, his earlier hesitation evaporating into a frantic, slapping rhythm. Each thrust hammered the back of her throat, making her gag reflex flutter around him. Spit and pre-cum slicked his punishing strokes. “Take it, you greedy slut,” he grunted, his voice gaining confidence, his balls slapping against her chin with every deep, claiming drive.
Marcus’s thrusts became punishing, each slam burying his thick cock past her stretched lips, the steel ring biting into the corners of her mouth as he used her face with brutal efficiency. Cora’s world narrowed to the slap of his thighs against her cheeks, the raw scrape of his shaft, the bitter-salt taste of his pre-cum flooding her trapped tongue. Her throat opened and closed in wet, obscene gulps around him, a trained reflex that only encouraged his deeper, harder drives.
Arthur watched for a moment, his calm eyes noting the tremors in her bound thighs, the desperate flutter of her lashes. He then turned and opened a black case, the latches clicking open with surgical finality. Inside, nestled in foam, lay a long, tapering instrument of polished steel, its surface ridged with deliberate, spiraling ribs.
“Since we’ve conquered your throat, ass, and bladder,” Arthur said, his voice a low growl that cut through the wet sounds of the face-fucking, “let’s see how deep this will slide into your cervix.” He turned, the cold, ribbed sound gleaming in the low light. The other man groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he watched Arthur move behind the gyn-chair.
Arthur’s strong, sure hands entered the speculum still locked in place, spread her labia wide with clinical precision, exposing her utterly spent and swollen flesh. The air felt cold against her raw, penetrated intimacy. He pressed the blunt, cool tip of the sound against her entrance, a stark contrast to the violent heat of the cock in her mouth.
He began the slow, excruciating penetration of her most intimate inner channel. The steel, slick with gel, parted her tender flesh with inexorable pressure, a foreign, rigid invasion that traveled deeper than any cock ever could. Cora’s scream was muffled by the massive shaft fucking her throat, emerging as a strained, high-pitched whine through her nose.
The ribbed length slid steadily inward, an intense, burning stretch that sought a depth untouched. It pressed past every internal barrier, a cold claim on her core. Her body arched against the restraints, a silent plea for mercy that went unanswered.
Arthur’s push was relentless, methodical, until the instrument met the final, tight resistance of her cervix. He paused, applying firm, steady pressure until the tip began to dilate the tiny, sacred opening. With a final, cruel twist, the ribbed steel sound breached her cervix and slid into the very heart of her.
With a final, cruel twist, the ribbed steel sound breached her cervix and slid into the very heart of her. A wave of nauseating, profound fullness eclipsed every other sensation—the cock in her throat, the restraints on her limbs.
Arthur’s thumb found a small switch at the sound’s base. He clicked it.
A low, deep hum vibrated through the steel inside her, resonating in the very walls of her cervix, a brutal electronic pulse that shook her core. Her eyes flew wide, a silent scream strangled by the cock hammering her throat. The vibration wasn’t pleasure; it was a seismic rearrangement, a trigger wired directly into her spinal column.
Every muscle in her pelvis clenched and spasmed in violent, involuntary waves. “There it is,” Arthur murmured, observing her body’s rebellion with clinical interest. The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated, a white-hot fissure splitting her from the inside out.
Her back bowed impossibly against the leather, a guttural, shredded noise tearing from her ruined throat around Marcus’s shaft. A torrent of clear fluid erupted from her, not a trickle but a continuous, violent jet that splashed against the chair’s base and pooled on the floor. It was a drowning release, utterly beyond her control, stripping every coherent thought away.
Marcus watched in amazement - then he grunted, “Oh fuck, I’m—”, his rhythm fragmenting as he felt her convulse around the sound and choke around his cock. He slammed in to the hilt, holding there, and poured his cum in thick, pulsing ropes down her esophagus. She swallowed reflexively, gagging, the salty heat flooding her stomach as the electric pulse inside her womb wrung another endless, squirting convulsion from her.
The convulsion subsided, leaving her a vessel of twitching nerve endings. Arthur clicked the vibrator off, and the sudden silence inside her was more shocking than the noise had been. He withdrew the sound with a slow, slick pull she felt in her teeth.
“I'll clean her up,” Arthur said, his voice echoing down a long tunnel. The other man pulled his softening cock from her ruined mouth with a wet pop, and the cool air on her throat was a bizarre relief. Arthur removed the ring gag and the plugs and finally the speculum. Someone else, a fourth figure she hadn’t registered, began unbuckling the straps holding her ankles and wrists.
The leather sighed as it released her, but her limbs were useless, leaden things. They did not so much lift her as peel her from the chair, her skin sticking to the sweat-and-cum-slicked leather. Her feet touched the carpet, but the signal to stand never reached her legs.
She buckled, but strong hands caught her under the arms. “Easy now,” Arthur murmured, his tone devoid of pity, purely functional. He and the other man guided her staggering form onto a low, padded bench, her body slumping forward over its cool surface.
Her vision was tunneling, the neon lights bleeding into streaked halos. She was distantly aware of a warm cloth wiping between her legs, over her ass, the coarse fabric moving with impersonal efficiency. Arthur’s gloved hand pressed firmly on her lower back, holding her in place.
“Deep breath, Cora,” he instructed, but the words were marbles rolling off a table. The room’s edges softened, then dissolved into a murmuring gray static. The last thing she felt was a final, cold emptiness.
Then, a profound and welcome nothing. Cora blacked out. Her head lolled to the side, her breath evening into a shallow rhythm. Arthur watched for a moment, then nodded, snapping his glove off with a crisp flick.