Chapter 20: The Submission
The aftermath of the fist had settled into a dull, persistent ache, a phantom fullness that lingered for days. Maggie moved through her non-streaming life with a new awareness of her own depths, a secret smile playing on her lips when she sat down, a slight wince that was its own private pleasure. The financial reports Ben showed her were staggering. The “Hydration Protocol” stream had broken records, funding the next six months of operations and then some. But the question she’d asked hung between them, a third presence in the room.
"What's deeper than a fist?"
A week later, he had his answer. It lay on the black velvet throw at the foot of the bed, looking less like a sex toy and more like an artifact from some pagan temple. The horse-head dildo was colossal, sculpted from dual-density silicone that mimicked the frightening realism of flesh and bone. The veined shaft was obscenely thick, flaring out into a pronounced medial ring before tapering to a tip. But it was the head that commanded attention—a broad, flat plateau with a defined coronal ridge, a bestial parody of a glans. Next to it sat a formidable black vibrator, a wand-style monster with a pulsating head, and a new gag: a rubber ring gag, designed not to fill the mouth but to hold it cruelly, permanently open.
“Tonight,” Ben said, his voice stripped of its usual playful tech-advisor cadence, leaving only a flat, undeniable certainty, “you’re not a person. You’re not a performer. You’re nothing but pleasure. A receiver. A hole to be tested. This—” he nudged the silicone horse cock with his foot, “—is deeper than a fist. It’s longer. It’s shaped to go where a fist can’t. It’s made to breach a second sphincter. To reach your sigmoid.”
Maggie stared at the toy. A cold thrill, sharp as a surgical blade, cut through her gut. This wasn’t about stretching anymore. This was about colonization. About claiming virgin territory inside her own body. She nodded slowly, her throat dry.
“Before,” Ben said, stepping closer. He didn’t touch the toys. He touched her. His hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing the high bones of her cheeks. “Look at me.”
She did. Her green eyes were wide, the mischievous glint replaced by a profound, trusting stillness.
“This is a different kind of deep,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “This isn’t just a stretch. This is an exploration into a place that might not want to be explored. It might cramp. It might hurt in a way that isn’t good. The safeword is absolute tonight. Not a suggestion. A circuit breaker. Do you understand me, Maggie?”
“I understand,” she whispered. “I trust you.”
He pulled her into an embrace. It was fierce and brief, devoid of any sexual charge. It was an anchor point, a tactile reminder of the world outside the coming storm. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his soap and the faint, always-present hint of machine oil from his keyboard. For a moment, she was just a woman, not a archetype. Then he let her go, and the atmosphere in the room snapped back into place, thick with intention.
“Assume the position,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of a conductor. “Hands and knees. Head down. Present that beautifully ruined ass to me. Let’s see how it’s healed.”
She obeyed, the silk cool against her knees and palms. Her ass, the once-devastated oval, had mostly recovered, but the skin there still looked softer, pinker, more delicate than the surrounding flesh. Ben traced the furl with a single, proprietorial finger. It twitched.
“Good. It remembers. It’s eager.” He picked up the ring gag. “Open.”
She did, and he fitted the rubber ring between her teeth. It forced her jaw open wide, locking it in a permanent, slack-jawed expression. Drool would be inevitable. Helplessness was guaranteed. He fastened the strap at the back of her head. Her breathing immediately shallowed, taking on a nasal, desperate quality.
“You breathe through this,” he instructed, tapping the open center of the ring. “You scream through this. That’s all.”
Next, he picked up the wand vibrator. He didn’t turn it on. Instead, he lubed it thickly and pressed the broad, smooth head against her pussy. “This stays here. Your job is to come around it. Repeatedly. It’s your anchor to the pleasure side of this. We’re not here for pain. We’re here for transformative sensation. This,” he nodded to her ass, “will be intense. This,” he pressed the vibrator, “will be your tether. Don’t lose it.”
He turned the vibrator on. It didn’t hum; it thrummed, a deep, industrial vibration that felt less like a buzz and more like a seismic event. He set it on its lowest setting, but even that was overpowering, sending immediate, shocking waves of stimulation through her clit and vaginal walls. She groaned, the sound echoing weirdly in the open ring of her gag.
“Now,” Ben said, his attention turning to the horse dildo. He lifted it. It was heavy, a serious piece of equipment. He coated it in a slick, clear lube, working it over every ridge, every vein, until it shone under the candlelight. Then, he applied a thick, cold pool of the same lube directly to her exposed anus, working a generous amount inside her with two diligent fingers. “Relax into it, Maggie. This isn’t a fuck. This is a journey. Your body will try to reject it. Your brain will scream that it’s impossible. You override both. You accept it.”
The broad, flat head pressed against her. It was so much larger than his fist had been at its widest point. The cold silicone was a shock. She whined, high in her throat, pushing back instinctively despite herself. The vibrator thrummed against her cunt, a confusing counter-signal.
“Breathe out,” Ben commanded. “Push out like you’re taking a shit. That opens you up.”
She exhaled, forcing her muscles to relax. He applied steady, unyielding pressure. The corona of the horse cock began to distend her. It was a slow, breathtaking invasion, a stretching that felt different from the fist—less giving, more mechanically insistent. The medial ring, that brutal ridge, was still outside, a promised agony.
“Fuck, look at that,” Ben muttered, partly to her, partly to the empty room they’d record for later. “Your hole is swallowing the head. It’s turning into a fucking mare.” He pushed, and the head popped past her outer sphincter with a soft, wet plop. She gasped, the air cool through the ring gag. The stretch was immense, a solid, filling presence.
He held it there, letting her adjust to the sheer circumference. The vibrator against her cunt hummed its low, steady drone, a grounding wire in a gathering storm. Her asshole fluttered violently around the intruding silicone, a tight, hot ring stretched to its limit.
“Breathe,” Ben reminded her, his voice low and calm. He didn’t push further. He simply observed the obscene sight: her pink, straining flesh visibly distorted around the dark, veined shaft. “That’s just the head. The fun part’s coming.”
He began to pull it back, an almost cruel retreat. The broad corona dragged against her inner ring with a slick, sticky sound. She whimpered, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of her gagged mouth. Just as she thought he might remove it entirely, he pushed forward again, sliding the head back in with the same slow, inexorable pressure. Each micro-movement was a lesson in surrender.
“Gonna get you used to this,” he murmured. Back and forth, an inch of travel, just that thick head breaching her. “Gonna make your hole memorize this shape.” He pulled it almost all the way out, leaving just the tip stretching her pucker, then fed it back in with a soft, wet pop. “It’s already getting greedy. Look how it sucks it back in.”
He repeated the motion, a slow, decadent piston working only the entrance. The stretch was constant, a burning, full sensation that already felt monumental. The wand vibrator was doing its job, though, sending pulses of pleasure up into her belly that tangled with the ache in her ass, confusing her nerves. Her cunt grew slicker, a fresh trickle of arousal mingling with the lube.
“Wait until you feel the ring,” Ben said, his voice taking on a darker, more anticipatory tone. He pulled the toy out until the very tip threatened to slip free, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. The thickest part of the shaft, the pronounced medial ring, kissed her outer ring of muscle. He paused, letting the pressure build. “This part… this is where you earn it. This is the gate.”
He applied more steady force. Her body went rigid, a sharp, panicked inhale whistling through the ring gag. The vibrator’s thrum against her clit felt suddenly distant, secondary to the impossible pressure at her rear entrance. The silicone ridge, unyielding and vast, pressed against her stretched limits. Ben didn’t shove. He leaned into it, a relentless, gradual increase of force that made her toes curl against the sheets.
“Push out, Maggie,” he commanded, his own breath becoming slightly labored. “Open up and take this fucking knot.”
She tried, groaning, bearing down as if in childbirth. The vibrator slipped against her soaked lips. For a terrifying second, nothing yielded. Then, with a soft, internal tearing sensation that was more pop than pain, the medial ring breached her. It slid past her sphincter with a profound, full feeling of conquest. A broken, guttural cry tore from her throat, echoing in the hollow of the gag.
“Holy shit,” Ben breathed, his composure slipping for a second into pure awe. He held the dildo there, buried to just past the ring, her ass stretched obscenely wide around the thickest part of the shaft. “Look at that. You’re fucking knotted. Like an animal.”
He began to move it again, short, shallow strokes that worked the brutal ridge in and out of her clenched muscle. Each outward pull made the ring catch on her inner rim, stretching it taut before popping free. Each inward thrust made it disappear inside her, a thick, moving bulge under her skin. The sensation was overwhelming, a brutal fullness that threatened to split her in two. Yet, the wand hummed against her clit, and a treacherous, deep pulse of pleasure echoed the violation.
“You feel that ridge moving inside you?” Ben asked, his voice thick. He pulled the toy almost all the way out again, until just the tip remained, her hole gaping stupidly wide. “It’s rearranging you. Making a mold of your insides.” He pushed back in, slowly, forcing the ring through once more. Her whine was continuous now, a desperate mantra.
“Now,” he said, pulling the dildo out completely. Her asshole remained a dark, slack O, twitching in the cool air. He reached for the restraints. “No more helping. No more pushing back. You just take it.”
He bound her wrists to her ankles with soft, padded cuffs, forcing her back into a deeper, more vulnerable arch. He added a strap across the small of her back, pulling her hips up and locking her in place. She was trussed, immobile, a offering presented on the altar of the bed. He picked up the heavily lubed dildo again.
“This time,” he said, pressing the broad head against her once more, “we go deeper. Past the ring. All the way. I want to feel your colon open up for this.”
He pushed. The head slipped in more easily now, her muscle memory accepting the familiar invasion. The medial ring followed, a thicker, more insistent stretch this time. She clenched around it, a reflexive spasm, but the bindings held her perfectly still. Ben leaned his weight into it, a slow, steady pressure that felt endless. The ridge breached again, with a wet, yielding pop.
He didn’t stop. He kept pushing. The long, tapered shaft beyond the ring began to vanish into her. This was new territory. A deep, internal pressure began to build, a feeling of being filled in a place that had never been touched. It wasn’t the sharp burn of the stretch, but a deep, visceral crowding. She could feel it snaking inside her, an alien presence.
“That’s it,” Ben coaxed, feeding more of the length into her. “That’s your sigmoid. The second door. It’s tight, isn’t it? It’s fighting me.” He pulled back an inch, then pushed forward again, a slow corkscrew motion. A sharp, cramping sensation seized her lower belly. She cried out, a ragged sound. “Breathe through it. Let it accept you.”
He worked the dildo with meticulous patience, an inch in, an inch out, gradually persuading the inner bend of her colon to straighten, to accommodate. The cramps came in waves, clenching down on the invader, then reluctantly releasing. The wand vibrator was a distant thrum, a life raft in a sea of intense, confusing sensation. Pain and pleasure blurred into a single, overwhelming current.
“I can feel it turning,” Ben murmured, his eyes fixed on where he disappeared into her. “I’m past the first curve. You’re taking it, you filthy slut. You’re taking this beast into your guts.” He pushed further, and a new, full feeling bloomed deep within her pelvis. The dildo was delving into a space that felt both incredibly intimate and terrifyingly empty. The pressure was immense, a profound stuffing that made her feel hollowed out and overfull simultaneously.
He pulled it back slowly, almost all the way out, until just the head remained. Her asshole, stretched and used, gaped for a breathless moment. Then he pushed back in, a smooth, longer stroke that slid through her outer ring, past the medial ring, and deep into her colon in one fluid motion. She screamed, the sound raw and unfiltered through the open ring gag. It was a scream of violation, of achievement, of sheer, unadulterated sensation.
“Again,” Ben growled, his own control fraying. He pulled out and pushed back in, establishing a rhythm. Not fast, but deep and relentless. Each stroke forged a path a little deeper, a little smoother. The wet, sloshing sounds of her lubrication and his thrusts filled the room. Her body, bound and helpless, rocked with each impact. “You feel that? You feel how deep I’m fucking you now? This is what’s deeper than a fist. This is claiming you all the way to your core.”
He leaned over her, his breath hot on her ear. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you? Desperate for me to bury every last inch in your shithole. To pack your intestines with this cock.” He punctuated his words with a deep, grinding thrust that made her see stars. “Beg for it. Beg me to fuck your ass to the hilt.”
She couldn’t form words, just a continuous, sobbing keen. But her body begged for her. Her hips strained against the strap, trying to force herself deeper onto the invading length. Her asshole, despite the brutal stretch, clenched and fluttered, trying to milk the silicone. She was a mess of conflicting signals: the deep, cramping pressure, the brutal fullness, the thrumming pleasure on her clit, the sheer psychological shock of the penetration. It coalesced into a single, burning need.
Ben saw it in the frantic flutter of her eyelids, in the way her soaked cunt dripped onto the sheets below. He pulled the dildo out until just the tip remained, teasing her with its absence. “You want it?” he taunted, voice ragged. “This hungry, gaping hole wants it stuffed full?”
A strangled, affirmative moan tore from her throat.
He slammed it back into her, a deep, final, claiming stroke that buried the entire length to the base. The flared base pressed against her ravaged outer ring, a final, impossible stretch. She was utterly impaled, speared through her depths. He held it there, buried to the hilt, his hand firm on the base, feeling her inner muscles spasm and clutch around the intruding shape. He leaned down, his lips nearly touching her ear.
“Now,” he whispered, the word a promise and a threat. “Now we fuck.”
He did not move.
The sheer, impaling fullness was its own brutal universe. Maggie hung from her restraints, a living canvas of stretched flesh and overwhelmed nerves. The horse cock was a dead weight inside her, a silicone colonist claiming depths no light had ever touched. Her breath hitched in wet, ragged gasps through the ring gag. Each frantic heartbeat pulsed around the invader, a wet, internal clench that was both protest and embrace.
Ben watched her, his hand steady on the flared base. Her ass was a distorted halo of pink around the dark shaft. “Breathe,” he said, his voice low but clear over the steady thrum of the wand still pressed to her cunt. “Just breathe into it. Let your guts settle around it.”
A deep, cramping spasm rolled through her colon. She whimpered, a high, thin sound of distress that was utterly different from her earlier screams of challenge. This was the cost. This was the “hurt that isn’t good” he’d warned her about. The alien pressure deep in her pelvis felt less like pleasure and more like a violation of her very architecture.
“I know,” he murmured, and his free hand came to rest on the small of her back, not pushing, just anchoring. “It’s a lot. It’s deeper than anything. Your body’s asking what the fuck is happening.” He leaned close, his lips near her ear. “Tell it this is happening. Tell it to accept.”
He began to move. Not with the driving pistons of a fuck, but with infinitesimal withdrawals and advances. A quarter-inch out. A half-inch in. A slow, maddening re-greasing of the path he’d forged. The medial ring dragged against her inner sphincter with every micro-movement, a constant, burning reminder of the barrier she’d broken.
“Good girl,” he breathed as he felt the initial, panicked clenching around the toy begin to soften, not from relaxation but from a fatigued surrender. “That’s it. Let it be there. It belongs there now.”
After a minute of this tiny, teasing motion, he pulled back perhaps two inches—a shocking retreat that made her gasp—and then pushed forward smoothly, burying it to the hilt once more with a soft, wet schluck. This time, the cramp that followed was weaker. Her body was learning. Adapting. Rewriting its own map of possibility.
“You’re taking it,” he said, and now his voice held a thread of genuine awe. He pulled out again, three inches this time, watching her ravaged hole struggle to close around the retreating girth before failing, left gaping. He pushed back in. “You’re really taking this whole fucking thing into your colon. I can feel the bend giving way.”
He established a rhythm. Slow. Deep. Unhurried. Each full-stroke withdrawal made the flat head of the dildo threaten to pop free from her stretched pucker before he’d thrust it home again, the medial ring punching through her outer ring with a soft, popping punctuation each time. The sounds were obscenely wet, a slurry of lube and internal submission.
“Remember the fist?” he grunted, picking up the pace just a notch. The thick shaft glistened, slick with her internal heat. “That was a party. This is a fucking pilgrimage.” He slammed home particularly hard, and she jolted forward, a fresh string of drool swinging from her gag. “You wanted to know what was deeper. This is it. This is the fucking frontier.”
Her responses were reduced to primal, vocal chaos. Every deep stroke wrung a choked gurgle from her throat. The wand’s vibrations were finally breaking through the wall of intense sensation, the pleasure from her clit now weaving with the deep, full ache in her ass, creating a feedback loop of overwhelmed bliss. Her cunt was leaking copiously, a steady drip-drip-drip onto the silk below.
Ben’s own breathing was heavier now. This was work. Physical and emotional. He was a guide in a treacherous landscape, and his charge was unraveling beautifully before him. He changed his angle slightly, aiming upward, seeking the inner architecture.
“There,” he hissed, feeling a new, subtle resistance yield. “That’s the second curve. The sigmoid’s opening. You feel that, you desperate slut? You feel your own insides straightening out for this cock?” He worked the tip against it, a persistent, corkscrewing pressure.
Maggie’s world dissolved into that single, internal point of pressure. It was a bright, singular spike of sensation—not quite pain, not yet pleasure, but something profound and terrifying. Her previous climax, the squirting eruption from the fist, felt like a childish preview. This was the main event.
“Gonna fucking breed your colon,” Ben growled, his tech-advisor persona ashes in the wind. He was pure id now, a devil at the altar of her ruin. He thrust hard, pushing past the new resistance. A sharp, electric sensation, wholly new, flashed through her lower belly. She shrieked, the sound bouncing off the walls.
He did it again. And again. Short, powerful jabs that targeted that deep, inner threshold. Each one made her vision blur. Her bound body was a taut wire, vibrating with each impact. The wand was a forgotten atom bomb against her clit, its thunder lost in the earthquake happening deeper