Chapter 7: The Saint Andrew's Cross
Kim fell asleep with a faint smirk on her lips, a silent challenge tossed into the dark. Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got. The echo of Shego’s hand inside her jeans was a warm, persistent throb between her legs, a phantom brand. She welcomed the pull of unconsciousness, diving into it like a covert mission.
The shift was instantaneous. One moment, the cool cotton of her sheets; the next, the unforgiving press of carved wood against her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Her arms were stretched wide, her legs spread, bound at the wrists and ankles to the cold, smooth beams of a Saint Andrew’s cross. The air was different here—thick, charged, smelling of ozone, aged leather, and a faint, clean antiseptic sting. A single red lamp hung overhead, casting the room in a pulsing, bloody glow. She was naked. A thick black rubber ball gag filled her mouth, straps digging into the corners of her lips. She tested the bonds. They held. Perfectly.
She heard the click of heels on concrete first. Then Shego stepped into the circle of crimson light.
She wore only a green leather corset, laced tight, emphasizing the pale green curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts. In her hands was a small, sterile tray. Kim’s eyes tracked the instruments: a packet of needles, small green jewels, a bottle of clear liquid, a buzzing device that wasn’t a vibrator. Her heartbeat, already rapid, kicked into a frantic gallop. Anticipation, sharp and sweet, flooded her mouth even around the gag.
“Hello, princess,” Shego purred, setting the tray on a nearby chrome stand. She stepped close, her body heat a tangible force. Her fingers, cool and dry, traced the line of Kim’s collarbone, then drifted down to cup her left breast. Her thumb brushed over the nipple, already peaked and sensitive from the cool air. “I think you need some adornment. A permanent reminder.”
She picked up a needle, its tip glinting. She soaked a pad in the clear liquid and swabbed Kim’s nipple briskly. The cold was a shock. Kim whimpered against the gag, her back pressing into the wood.
“Shhh,” Shego whispered, her breath feathering over the wet skin. “It’ll only hurt for a second. Then it’ll just feel… owned.”
The pinch was precise, brutal, and over in a flash. A bright, white-hot spike of pain shot from Kim’s nipple straight to her core. She screamed, the sound muffled and animalistic into the rubber ball. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the red light. Shego worked with a ruthless efficiency, threading the small green jewel onto a ring and pushing it through the fresh hole. The metal was cold, a foreign, weighty presence on the most sensitive part of her body. Before Kim could process the deep, throbbing ache, Shego repeated the process on the right. Another scream, torn from her throat. Another cold ring, another green jewel settled against her areola.
Tears streamed down Kim’s cheeks. She looked down, her vision clearing. Two tiny beads of blood welled up around the green jewels, glittering in the low light. Shego leaned in, her tongue—rough, wet, hot—licked the blood away. The sensation was unbearable, a mix of searing pain and electric pleasure that made Kim’s hips jerk against nothing.
“Pretty,” Shego murmured, then straightened. She picked up the buzzing device. A tattoo gun. Its hum filled the room, a sinister choir to the one in Kim’s head. Shego didn’t ask. She simply took Kim’s right arm, adjusted the lamp, and pressed the needle into the taut skin of her bicep.
The pain was different. A relentless, burning scrape, a vibration that went bone-deep. Kim choked on her spit, her muscles trembling as Shego sketched the outline of a heart with clean, brutal lines. Barbed wire wrapped around it, thorns digging into the flesh of the shape. The hum was constant, the smell of ink and scorched skin faint in the air. Inside the heart, Shego began to fill in color. A vibrant, living orange flame twisted with a deep, emerald green one. Their colors, entwined forever in her skin.
Kim’s entire world narrowed to the burning needle and the desperate, soaking heat between her legs. Her cunt was dripping, a steady stream of arousal slicking her inner thighs, falling to the concrete floor with soft, punctuating taps. The degradation, the ownership, the pain—it was all a key turning in a lock she didn’t know she had. She was so fucking wet it was obscene.
Shego set the gun down. The sudden silence was louder than the buzz. She studied her work, her green eyes critical, then satisfied. She leaned forward again, her mouth closing over Kim’s newly pierced left nipple. She sucked hard, her tongue flicking the cold metal ring.
A shockwave of sensation blasted through Kim. It was too much. The piercing throbbed, the fresh tattoo burned, and Shego’s mouth was pure, undiluted sin. A raw, guttural moan ripped past the gag. Kim’s back arched violently, her bound body straining against the leather cuffs.
Shego’s hand slid down Kim’s quivering stomach, through the coarse thatch of red hair, and found her cunt. She hissed in pleasure. “Fuck, Kim. You’re absolutely ruined. Soaking.”
One finger slid in easily. Then a second. There was no resistance, just hot, slick, welcoming flesh. Shego scissored them, stretching her. Kim’s hips rolled, fucking the air, desperate for more. Shego added a third finger, then a fourth, her knuckles stretching Kim wide. The stretch was immense, dizzying. Kim was panting through her nose, her eyes screwed shut, lost in a world of searing sensation.
“You can take it,” Shego growled, her voice thick with lust. “Take my whole fucking hand.”
She pressed her thumb against Kim’s swollen clit and pushed.
The fist slid in, a slow, impossible, glorious invasion. Kim’s eyes flew open. The feeling of being utterly filled, stretched to her absolute limit, was beyond anything. She was packed, every inch of her cunt occupied by Shego’s tight fist. The pressure was immense, overwhelming. She couldn’t breathe.
Shego began to move. A slow, deliberate pump of her arm. The wet, squelching sound of Kim’s body accepting her filled the room. It was lewd, animal. Kim’s vision spotted. Her orgasm wasn’t approaching; it was simply there, rising from the depths like a leviathan, forged from pain and ownership and raw, filthy need.
Shego fucked her with her fist, her own breathing ragged. “Come on, you filthy bitch. Come all over my arm. Do it.”
The command snapped something. The tidal wave broke.
Kim’s orgasm was violent, a seizure of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Her cunt spasmed, clenching and rippling around Shego’s buried fist. A gush of fluid, more than she’d ever produced, sprayed out around the tight seal of Shego’s wrist, soaking her forearm, dripping onto the floor in a hot rush. Kim screamed and screamed into the gag, her body convulsing against the cross, tears and sweat and saliva mingling on her face.
Slowly, Shego withdrew her fist, the motion making Kim gasp at the shocking emptiness. Shego looked at her glistening hand and forearm, coated in Kim’s release. She held Kim’s gaze, her eyes dark with triumph, and raised her hand.
She wiped it across Kim’s face.
She smeared the sticky, salty proof of Kim’s ruin over her cheeks, her lips, her nose. Kim could taste herself on the gag, smell her own scent overwhelmingly strong.
“Good girl,” Shego whispered, her lips brushing Kim’s ear.
The red light dissolved into the grayish dawn filtering through her bedroom blinds.
Kim woke with a ragged gasp, her body jerking upright. The sheets were cold and clinging, completely soaked through. Not just damp—saturated. A patch of sweat from her back, a wide, cold swath of her own release between her legs. The smell of sex was potent in her quiet room.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She looked down. Her nipples were hard, peaked, aching with a phantom, thrilling soreness. She touched her right bicep. The skin was smooth, unmarked. But it tingled. She swung her legs out of the sodden bed, her body trembling with residual shock and a deep, sated exhaustion that felt like victory.
She walked to the bathroom, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild. She looked like a woman who had fought a war in her sleep and, for the first time, wasn’t sure who had won.
A slow, shaky smile touched her lips. She turned on the shower, waiting for the steam to rise.