Chapter 14: Spanked into Submission
His words were a branding iron. Fat little bitch. They seared through the bourbon haze, through the shock, and found a twisted home in the raw nerve of her humiliation. This was what Billy had seen. This was what she was, stripped of pretense and lace. Just meat. Braxton’s mouth on her breast was a violent confirmation.
He released her nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lip to the abused, tight bud. He looked down at his work, then back at her face. Her tears were silent, tracking through her mascara. He smiled.
“Don’t cry,” he grunted, not kindly. “You love this. Your cunt’s dripping all over the hotel’s fancy duvet.”
To prove his point, he dragged a hand from her breast down her trembling stomach, through the coarse hair between her legs, and shoved two thick fingers inside her.
Leah gasped, her body arching off the bed against her will. It was a brutal, full invasion, no tenderness, just a claiming of wet, inner space. He worked his fingers in and out, the sound obscenely wet in the quiet room. He watched her face, his own flushed with triumph.
“See?” he panted. “Told you. This is what you really are. A fucking slut who gets wet for a fat bastard in a security uniform. Because he sees you. He knows.”
He withdrew his fingers, glistening, and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a loud, grotesque slurp. “Tastes like cheap bourbon and regret.” He chuckled, the vibration shaking the bed. “My favorite.”
He shifted his colossal weight. With a grip like a steel band, he wrapped his hand around her ankle—the one still strapped into the high, sharp stiletto. He yanked.
She slid across the duvet, helpless as a doll. He maneuvered her with shocking efficiency, turning her, pulling her until she was draped face-down over his broad, hairy thighs. Her cheek was pressed against the coarse, sweaty skin of his leg. The position bent her at the waist, presenting her ass high in the air. Her stilettos dangled, their sharp points scraping the carpet. The fishnet stockings were torn at the knees.
He moaned, a sound of pure gluttony. His hands settled on the full, round curves of her ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as if evaluating fruit. “Goddamn,” he breathed. “This is a fucking masterpiece.”
One hand lifted. The pause was a vacuum.
The first spank cracked through the room, a sharp, percussive explosion of sound. The pain was immediate, bright and hot, blooming across her left cheek. She shrieked, the sound muffled by his thigh.
He didn’t hesitate. The second spank landed on the same spot, harder. Then the right cheek. He settled into a rhythm, his heavy palm landing with methodical, increasing force. Crack. Crack. Crack.
Each impact jolted through her whole body, shaking her breasts, rattling her teeth. The pain was a fire, spreading, consuming. She cried out with each blow, but her cries seemed to fuel him, his grunts growing louder, more ragged.
“This!” Crack. “Is what!” Crack. “You needed!” Crack.
Between spanks, his fingers would dig into the scorching flesh, massaging the pain deeper, or they would slide down, through her soaking wet folds, gathering her arousal, and smear it back over the heated, reddened skin of her ass. The mix of sting and slippery wetness was confusing, degrading. A fresh tear soaked into the hair of his leg.
“Your skinny boy ever do this?” he rasped, landing another blistering slap. “Ever manhandle this fat ass like it deserved? Nah. He was probably afraid of it. Afraid of all this woman.”
He paused, both hands kneading her throbbing flesh. He was breathing like a bull. “Ask for it,” he commanded, his voice guttural.
Leah sobbed, her body trembling violently over his lap.
“Ask for it, you fat little cunt. Say ‘please spank my fat ass.’”
She shook her head, a feeble movement against his leg.
His hand came down again, not a spank now but a hard, open-palmed smack that echoed like a gunshot. White light flashed behind her eyes.
“SAY IT!”
The scream was torn from her. “Please!” she wailed, the humiliation a taste of copper in her mouth. “Please spank my… my fat ass.”
“Good girl,” he cooed, the false tenderness worse than his rage. He delivered three more rapid, stinging blows, each punctuated by a gasped sob from her. “Good fucking girl.”
“Good fucking girl.”
His praise was a poison that seeped into her, a perverse reward that made her stomach clench. He resumed kneading her scorched ass, the pain a dull, throbbing heat now. His breathing was a wet soundtrack in her ear.
Then his touch changed. His fingers, slick from her own body, trailed down from her swollen outer lips. They slid through the soaked, messy folds of her pussy, gathering more wetness. The sensation was electric, a jarring contrast to the pain.
He didn’t push inside her cunt this time. Instead, he ran those slick, probing fingers up the delicate crack of her ass. He circled the tight, clenched pucker of her asshole, smearing her arousal over it in a slow, deliberate glide.
She flinched violently, a sharp intake of breath hissing through her teeth. The intimacy of the touch was a profound violation, different and somehow deeper.
“Oh, look at that,” Braxton marveled, his voice hushed with a kind of grotesque reverence. He used his thumb to apply gentle, insistent pressure, spreading the wetness, watching the tiny muscle contract against the intrusion. “It’s so pretty. So fucking tight. Like a little pink rosebud.”
His thumb circled again, and a low, shuddering moan escaped Leah’s lips before she could bite it back. It was a sound of pure, helpless reaction, her body betraying her shame with a spark of sensation she didn’t want to feel.
He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through her. “You like that, huh? Bet that rich boy never even looked at this, did he?” He leaned closer, his hot breath on her ear. “Have you ever had this pretty ass fucked?”
The question hung in the air, filthy and direct. Leah trembled, her mind scrabbling for purchase. Billy hadn’t. It had been a line, one of the few she’d ever drawn. She shook her head, a tiny, frantic movement against his leg.
“No,” she whispered, the word tasting like defeat.
“No,” Braxton echoed, his tone one of immense satisfaction. He shifted beneath her, his erection, which had softened slightly during the spanking, now hardening again against her hip. “Gonna keep it that way. This perfect little ass is mine. But first…”
His voice cut through the humid air of the room, a graveled command that brooked no hesitation. “You’re going to suck my cock,” he said, his fingers still tracing possessive circles around her asshole. “Don’t forget the balls.” He shifted his bulk, his thigh muscle hardening beneath her cheek. “That’s what you want right? To suck off a fat man’s cock like the dirty whore you are?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical. He waited, his hand pausing its invasion. The silence stretched, thick with the smells of sex, sweat, and spilled bourbon. Leah’s mind was a white void. She saw Billy’s apologetic smile, Samantha’s thin, condescending silhouette. She saw the warehouse men’s eyes, and now Braxton’s—the only ones that held a hunger that matched the yawning emptiness inside her.
“Yes,” she heard herself whisper. The word was someone else’s.
“Didn’t hear you.”
“Yes,” she said, louder, her voice cracking on the syllable.
He grunted in approval. In one rough motion, he hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her upright. She knelt on the bed between his spread legs, the torn fishnet biting into her knees. The world swam. Before her, his cock stood upright from a nest of coarse hair, pressed against the pale, sweating curve of his monumental gut. The sheer scale of him, the sheer ugliness, was a physical blow.
He fisted his hand in her dark, tangled hair, not gently. He forced her head down. “Open your fucking mouth.”
She parted her lips. The head of his cock, broad and purplish, bumped against her teeth. It tasted of salt, of skin, of something faintly metallic. He pushed forward, and her jaw ached immediately as he filled her mouth. He was too thick. She gagged, her throat convulsing.
“None of that,” he snarled, tightening his grip on her hair. “Relax your throat, you slut.”
He began to move, a shallow, brutal rhythm. His other hand came up to cradle the back of her head, not to guide, but to control. He pushed deeper with each thrust, past the point of gagging, until the head nudged the tight ring of her esophagus. Tears streamed from her squeezed-shut eyes, mixing with the saliva that slicked his shaft.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his hips lifting off the bed to meet her face. “Take it. Swallow that fat fuckin’ cock.” He pumped into her mouth, his stomach slapping against her forehead with a wet sound. The room filled with the raw, rhythmic noises of her choking struggle and his ragged pleasure.
He pulled her off suddenly by the hair, a string of spit and pre-cum connecting her lips to his glistening head. “The balls,” he reminded her, his voice thick. “Lick ’em. Clean ’em.”
Dazed, she lowered her head. The heavy, wrinkled sac hung against the mattress. The smell here was muskier, primal. She extended her tongue, tracing the coarse, pendulous skin. She took one into her mouth, the texture strange and yielding, and sucked gently.
“Harder,” he demanded, his hand on the back of her neck. “Show ’em you’re grateful.”
She obeyed, sucking and licking with a desperate, degrading diligence. He sighed, a contented sound that vibrated through his body. “Fuck, yeah. Just a nasty little cocksucker at heart.” After a minute, he yanked her hair again, pulling her face back to his throbbing cock.
” After a minute, he yanked her hair again, pulling her face back to his throbbing cock.
She took him deep, the rhythm now a familiar horror, her jaw screaming in protest. He fucked her mouth with slow, deliberate pistons of his hips, his gaze locked on her teary, submissive face. “You’re getting good at this,” he grunted, his voice thick with condescension. “Natural talent.”
Suddenly, he pulled her completely off him by her hair. She gasped, coughing, strings of saliva dripping from her chin. He shifted his mountainous body, heaving himself backward until his shoulders were against the headboard, his enormous gut rising like a pale moon.
“Okay, switch,” he commanded, his eyes glinting. He patted his own fleshy chest. “Climb up here. Straddle my face. I want that fat, juicy cunt right on my mouth.”
Leah stared, her mind struggling to process the geometry of it. Her mouth was sore, her body trembling. The concept felt impossible, absurd with a man of his size.
“What?” she breathed.
“You heard me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging in, and guided her upwards. “You’re gonna sit that pretty pussy on my mouth and tongue. And while you’re up there,” he continued, his hands moving her like a doll, “you’re gonna lean forward and get back to work on my cock. Sixty-nine, sweetheart. Ever done it?”
She shook her head numbly, her thighs straining as she knelt over him, facing his feet. The sheer bulk of his stomach created a vast, rolling landscape between them. She had to plant her hands on the bed near his knees for balance.
“Didn’t think so,” he wheezed, a smug smile in his voice. “That pretty-boy was vanilla as fuck. Now, lower that cunt onto my face. Don’t be shy.”
Trembling, she inched backward, her knees sliding on the damp duvet. The heat of his breath hit her first, a moist promise against her soaked folds. She lowered herself, her body tensing. His hands clamped on her ass, fingers spreading her cheeks, and he pulled her down the final inch with a forceful yank.
His mouth was on her instantly, not a kiss but a voracious, devouring assault. His tongue, thick and relentless, licked a broad, wet stripe from her opening to her clit. He dove into her, his tongue fucking deep into her cunt before swirling up to suck her clit between his lips. The sensation was so direct, so overwhelmingly intense, that a ragged cry tore from her throat.
“That’s it,” his voice was muffled, vibrating against her most sensitive flesh. “Now lean forward and suck. Don’t stop.”
Her mind fragmented. The dual demand short-circuited her resistance. The pleasure building under his expert, hungry mouth was a traitorous tide, drowning her shame. She obeyed, bending forward over the vast expanse of his stomach, her hair trailing over his skin. She took the head of his cock back into her aching mouth, her neck straining at the awkward angle.
The position was a raw, living obscenity. She was a bridge of desperate flesh arched over his massive body, her mouth working his shaft while his tongue drilled into her core. The sounds were filthy: wet, sloppy sucking, guttural grunts from him, her own choked moans around his cock. She could taste herself on him, a salty, musky tang mixed with his own precum.
He ate her with a glutton’s fervor, his nose buried in her, his tongue flicking and probing with a crude expertise that made her thighs quake. His hands gripped her ass, holding her firmly in place, kneading the sore, reddened flesh. Every pull of his mouth sent a corresponding jolt through her, making her suck him harder, deeper, in a frenzied feedback loop of debasement.
She’d never felt so thoroughly used, so completely occupied. Billy’s polite, predictable lovemaking evaporated from memory, replaced by this crude, efficient machinery of mutual degradation. Braxton’s tongue found a rhythm, a precise, persistent circles on her clit that coiled a tight, white heat in her pelvis.
“Fuck yeah, suck it,” he grunted, his words vibrating through her. “Suck that cock while I eat this perfect fucking pussy. You’re gonna come all over my face, you fat little whore. I’m gonna taste it.”
The command, the brutal encouragement, the relentless stimulation—it was too much. The coil snapped. A orgasm detonated in her, violent and usurping, wrenching a scream from her that was stifled by his thrusting cock in her throat. Her body convulsed over him, her cunt clenching rhythmically against his sucking, devouring mouth.
He drank her in, his groans of satisfaction shuddering through her as she shook. She barely managed to keep her mouth on him, her movements becoming slack, automatic. As her waves subsided into shaky tremors, he slapped her ass hard, once. “Don’t you stop,” he growled. “I’m not done.”
He redoubled his efforts, his tongue now rough, overstimulating the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. The pleasure-pain made her sob around his cock.
His grip in her hair tightened, pulling her fully off his cock with a wet, wrenching sound. She gasped, dragging in ragged breaths, her lips swollen and slick. “Enough of that for now,” he grunted, his own breathing labored. “I want that ass closer.”
He maneuvered her with brute strength, his hands like vices on her hips, pushing her backwards until her knees were on either side of his head. The earlier position was reversed. Now she hovered directly over his face, her trembling thighs framing his coarse features, her dripping cunt just inches from his mouth. But he didn’t go there.
Instead, his thick hands spread her ass cheeks wide apart, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. He exhaled, a hot, damp blast against her most forbidden place. Leah froze, a new kind of terror icing her veins.
“Pretty,” he rasped again, a single, filthy word. Then his tongue, broad and wet, licked a long, slow stripe from the base of her pussy, up through her cleft, over the clenched pucker of her asshole.
She jolted as if electrified. A sharp cry escaped her. It wasn't pain. It was a shocking, intimate violation that bypassed every rational defense.
He did it again. And again. Each flat, wet pass of his tongue was a deliberate defilement, soaking her, loosening her. He focused on that tight little ring, circling it with a relentless, rhythmic pressure. He spit, a gob of warm saliva, and worked it into her with his tongue, the obscene wet sounds filling the silent spaces between his grunts.
He then began to eat her ass, it was too much. The focused, vulgar attention, the feeling of his tongue pressing, probing, invading that sacred, untouched space, shattered the last fragile wall within her. A second orgasm, darker and more convulsive than the first, ripped through her with no warning.
Her back arched violently. A raw, screaming wail tore from her throat, muffled and distorted. Braxton took immediate advantage, grabbing the back of her head and shoving himself back between her lips. Leah screamed, “I’M CUMMING!” but the words were garbled around the thick, pounding intrusion of his cock in her mouth.
The dual sensations fused into a single, overwhelming tsunami of degradation. She convulsed, her ass clenching against his invasive tongue, her throat working involuntarily around his shaft as wave after wave of pleasure so potent it felt like dying crashed through her. He held her there, pinned between his mouth and his cock, fucking her face slowly as she shook and moaned, consuming every tremor, every helpless spasm.
When she finally went limp, spent and hollow, he released her hair. She slumped sideways onto the bed, coughing, dripping, utterly destroyed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at her with smug, piggish satisfaction.
“See?” he said, his voice hoarse. “Told you you needed it. Now you’re properly broken in.”
Leah’s body went still, the final aftershocks of her orgasm replaced by a different, deeper tremor. His question hung in the air, more invasive than his tongue had been. It slithered into the raw space Billy had hollowed out. She stared at the patterned hotel carpet, her vision blurring.
She could hear the smirk in his voice without looking at him. The truth was a solid, cold stone in her gut. Billy’s lovemaking was careful, almost academic. It was a negotiation. It never felt like being consumed. It never felt like this annihilation.
“No,” she whispered, the word a confession scraped from a ruined place.
Braxton’s hand, rough and damp, closed around the back of her neck. He squeezed, not quite painfully, a possessive grip. “Didn’t think so.” He pulled her up, forcing her to kneel facing him again. Her body felt liquid, useless. “He didn’t know how to work a real woman. All that and he was just skimming the surface.”
He leaned back against the headboard, his cock still glistening and hard against his stomach. His eyes, small and gleaming, tracked over her slack face, her bruised mouth, her heaving chest. “Look at you. Absolutely fucking ruined. It’s beautiful.”
He grabbed the half-empty bourbon bottle from the floor. He took a long swig, throat working, then pressed the cool glass to her lips. “Drink.”
She drank, the liquor burning a path down her abused throat. It didn’t warm her. It felt like pouring gasoline on the hollow inside.
“Good girl.” He took the bottle back, set it aside. His gaze dropped to her cunt, swollen and visibly wet. “Now, I’m gonna fuck you. Properly. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He hooked his hands under her knees and pulled, dragging her down the bed until her ass was at the very edge. He heaved his immense bulk off the mattress, standing on shaky, columnar legs. He stepped between her splayed knees, his shadow swallowing her whole.
He spat into his palm, a coarse, deliberate sound. He slicked his cock with the mixture of saliva and her own fluids. He didn’t guide himself to her entrance with his hand. He used the head, tapping it against her clit, then sliding down through her wet folds, nudging, teasing, but not entering.
“Say please,” he rasped.
Leah looked up at the ceiling, at a small water stain shaped like a continent. She was no longer in her body. She was floating somewhere near that stain.
“I said, say please.” He thrust, not inside her, but hard against her sensitive outer lips, a blunt, shocking pressure.
“Please,” she echoed, the voice not her own.
“Please what?”
“Please… fuck me.”
“Louder.”
“PLEASE FUCK ME!” The scream was raw, torn from a place of pure animal surrender.
He grinned, a wide, ugly split in his sweaty face. “Since you asked so nice.”
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of her head. The bed groaned in protest. He positioned the broad head of his cock at her entrance and pushed.
There was no gentle yielding. It was a relentless, stretching invasion. She was wet, but he was so thick. A sharp, burning pain made her cry out, her nails digging into his forearms. He didn’t stop. He sank deeper, an inexorable, filling pressure that stole her breath.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back for a second. “Tight. So goddamn tight around me.” He buried himself to the hilt, his pubic bone grinding against her, his immense stomach resting on her thighs. He stayed there, pulsing inside her, letting her feel every inch of his possession.
Then he withdrew almost all the way, the drag agonizing and electric, and slammed back in.
The pace he set was punishing, a brutal, piston-like rhythm that shook the bedframe against the wall. Each thrust was a compact, powerful slam that jolted her body up the mattress. The sounds were vulgar: the wet slap of their flesh meeting, his guttural grunts, the creak of the bed, her own sharp, punched-out gasps.
“This…” he panted, driving into her, “...is what you were made for. Not for some boy. For a man.” He shifted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit a deep, bright nerve. A fractured moan escaped her. “There it is. There’s that whore again.”
He fucked her with a single-minded intensity, his focus entirely on his own pleasure, using her body as a sleeve. Her mind retreated further. She saw the warehouse aisles, the textbooks in her dorm, Billy’s face when he said “a little thick.” They were ghost images, distant and meaningless. This, the crushing weight, the splitting fullness, the smell of sweat and sex, was the only real thing.
He leaned down, his sour breath fanning her face. “You gonna cum again? From this?” He punctuated each word with a deep, grinding thrust. “You gonna cum on a fat man’s cock while you think about your skinny fiancé?”
The contradiction was a splinter in her brain. She shook her head, a futile denial.
“Yeah you are,” he growled, certainty itself. “I can feel you clenching. Begging for it. Your pretty little pussy is begging my fat cock to make it cum. Do it. Cum for me. Show me what he never got.”
His words were a dark incantation. The coil, thought to be spent, tightened again under the ruthless, precise battering. The pleasure was a crime, a betrayal of every part of her that had ever believed she was better than this. It built, a rising wave of shameful intensity.
She shattered. Her body bowed off the bed, a silent scream locked in her throat as the orgasm ripped through her, turning her vision white. Her cunt clamped down on him in frantic, rhythmic pulses.