Chapter 10: Asshole Audition
The silence, when it finally came, was a shock deeper than any voltage. One moment, Bianca’s universe was a mosaic of fractured sensation—a buzz in her cunt, a sting in her clit, a deep, unsettling fullness in her ass. The next, nothing. A void. The machine’s LEDs went dark. The only sound was the ragged, nasal whistle of her own breath through the gag and Nicole’s matching, desperate inhalations across from her.
For a long time, they simply existed in that null space. Their bodies hummed with ghost vibrations, muscles fluttering in confused revolt. The absence of stimulus was, perversely, a new kind of torture. Their nerves screamed for resolution, for the next wave, for anything to define the agony.
The door opened. Light from the outer room silhouetted Jack. He didn’t speak. He moved to each of them, his hands impersonal, clinical. He unbuckled the harnesses, the straps falling away. He removed the probes, each sliding free with a wet, soft sound that made them flinch. The sounding rods came out last, a sharp, unmistakable sensation that drew a weak groan from both. He unclasped the ball gags, letting them drop to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Stand,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection.
They couldn’t. Their legs, held open for hours, were useless noodles. They slumped, held up only by the restraints. Jack sighed, as if mildly inconvenienced. He released the ratchets on the leg supports, letting their limbs fall heavily. He unbuckled the wrist cuffs and the belly straps. They spilled forward onto the cold tiles, a tangle of trembling, slick limbs.
He allowed them to lie there for a minute, two, as feeling returned in painful, prickling waves to their deadened extremities. Then he nudged Bianca with his boot. “Up. Now. Or you stay here.”
The threat mobilized some deep, residual instinct. They crawled, then helped each other stand, leaning heavily on the ominous chairs that had been their prison. Jack observed their shaky progress, then turned and walked out. They followed, hobbling, a parade of shame and exhaustion.
He led them not to cells, but to a luxurious, tiled bathroom. Steam rose from a vast, sunken Jacuzzi. “Clean yourselves,” he commanded. “You have twenty minutes.”
The hot water was a baptism. It scalded their sensitized skin, but the heat sank into their knotted muscles, unlocking a cascade of shudders. They washed each other silently, their movements slow and tender, finding solace in the simple, human contact. No words were needed. Their shared ordeal hung between them, a bond forged in broken circuitry and helplessness.
After, they found not their old clothes, but two simple, identical white robes laid out on a bench. They put them on, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the cold leather and steel. Jack reappeared, holding two small, complex items of black metal and polished leather.
“Your new uniforms,” he said, holding them up.
They were chastity belts. Intricately engineered, with a central, sculpted shield that would cover their pussies, and sturdy waistbands and leg straps. The shields had a small, discreet opening at the back for anal access.
“Put them on.”
There was no protest. The will to protest had been burned out of them in the medical bay. With numb, obedient fingers, they fastened the belts around their waists, tightened the straps high on their thighs. The click of the locks was a final, definitive sound. The cool metal against their pubic mounds was a constant, heavy reminder. Their cunts were now officially, irrevocably, his property, inaccessible even to themselves.
Jack led them through a discreet elevator and into the stark, modern expanse of his penthouse living room. The floor was polished concrete, the walls bare except for a few severe abstract paintings. A massive, black leather couch dominated the space. The air smelled of him—sandalwood cologne, clean leather, underlying power.
He shed his own clothes, his muscular body moving with casual grace, and reclined naked on the couch. His cock, half-hard, lay thick against his thigh. He pointed to the space on the floor before him.
“Kneel.”
They knelt on the hard floor, the chastity belts pressing into their flesh, a soft, metallic clink sounding with their movement. They kept their eyes down, hands on their thighs. The submissive posture felt correct, earned.
Jack let the silence stretch, sipping from a glass of amber liquid. He studied them—the way Bianca’s red hair fell over her lowered face, the defiant set of Nicole’s jaw even in submission.
“Open for inspection,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble.
They knew what he wanted. Without hesitation, they turned, presenting themselves to him on their knees, their backs arched, their faces pressed to the cool floor. They reached back with their hands, pulling the cheeks of their asses apart, offering up the tight, pink furls of their holes.
“Wetter,” Jack said, and Nicole, her hand shaking only slightly, reached for a bottle of lube on the low table beside the couch. She squeezed a generous amount, the clear gel cold, and slicked it over Bianca’s exposed rosebud, her fingers circling, pressing, making the smaller woman gasp. Bianca then did the same for Nicole, working the lube into her darker, tighter pucker, feeling the muscle quiver under her touch.
Jack watched, his cock stirring to full, impressive hardness. “Good girls,” he murmured, a reward that warmed them more than the Jacuzzi had. “Now, Nicole. Show me how well you can prepare her. Use your fingers. I want to see her open up for you.”
Nicole’s breath hitched. She shifted closer on her knees, her face now inches from Bianca’s presented ass. She could see every detail, the glistening lube, the tiny, clenched star. She pressed her thumb against it, feeling the intense heat, the resistance.
“Do it,” Bianca whispered, her voice muffled against the floor. “Please.”
That ‘please’ did it. Nicole pushed her thumb in, just past the first knuckle. Bianca moaned, a deep, throaty sound of surrender. Nicole withdrew, then pushed two fingers together against the tight entrance. It was a struggle, the muscle fiercely tight after the night’s trauma. She worked them slowly, twisting, coaxing.
“C’mon, baby,” Nicole whispered, falling into the role, her own arousal a sharp ache behind the unforgiving metal of her belt. “Open up for me. Let me in.”
Bianca pushed back, a desperate, hungry motion, and Nicole’s fingers sank in to the second knuckle. They both cried out—Bianca from the intense, burning fullness, Nicole from the shocking, velvety heat gripping her digits.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” Nicole breathed, beginning to pump her fingers slowly. The lewd, wet sound filled the quiet room. She curled her fingers, searching, and Bianca jolted, a sharp cry tearing from her throat.
“There!” Bianca gasped. “Oh, fuck, right there!”
Jack’s hand was stroking his cock now, a slow, steady rhythm. “Add another,” he commanded, his voice thick.
Nicole pulled her fingers out, slick and gleaming, and forced three back into the clenching hole. Bianca screamed, a raw, beautiful sound of pleasure-pain, her body bowing. Nicole fucked her with her fingers, hard and fast now, lost in the depravity of it, in the feel of Bianca’s body yielding to her, in the approving gaze of the man on the couch.
“Look at that,” Jack said, his stroking pace increasing. “Look at the hungry little slut. Taking three fingers like she was made for it. You want more, Bianca? You want something bigger stuffed in that dirty ass?”
“Yes!” Bianca sobbed, her hips rocking back onto Nicole’s hand. “Yes, Sir, please!”
“Then ask Nicole. Ask her nicely to fuck your ass with her whole hand.”
Bianca’s mind, hazy with endorphins and submission, didn’t hesitate. “Nicole… please… fist me. Please, I need it. Stuff my ass. Make me full.”
Nicole looked up at Jack, her eyes wide, questioning. He nodded, a sharp, imperious gesture.
With a concentration that furrowed her brow, Nicole worked her three fingers deeper, stretching the ring of muscle wider. She pressed her little finger alongside them, then her thumb, forming her hand into a tapered shape. She pushed, her knuckles threatening the impossible barrier. Bianca was panting, chanting “yes, yes, yes,” her body dripping sweat onto the concrete.
With a final, brutal push and a guttural cry from both of them, Nicole’s hand sank in, past the wrist. Bianca’s body seized, her scream cut off into a strangled choke. She was utterly impaled, her ass stretched obscenely wide around Nicole’s forearm.
Jack stood up, his cock rock-hard and leaking. He walked over, looking down at the connected women, at Bianca’s utterly conquered form. “Perfect,” he growled. He nudged Nicole’s shoulder. “Move it. Fist her. Make her feel every inch.”
Nicole, her own body trembling with a powerful, denied climax, began to move. She pulled her hand back until just the knuckles caught, then shoved forward again. It was a brutal, primal motion. Bianca’s world dissolved into a white-hot nexus of sensation centered on her ravaged rectum. There was no pain, not anymore. Just a shocking, overwhelming fullness, a sense of being split open and used in the most profound way possible.
Jack dropped to his knees behind Nicole. He spat into his hand, slicked his enormous cock, and without ceremony, pressed the broad head against Nicole’s own lubricated, waiting asshole.
She gasped, the penetration shocking her system. “Oh, God, Sir…”
He didn’t pause. He gripped her hips and drove forward, burying his length in her tight channel in one relentless thrust. Nicole screamed, the sensation of fisting Bianca and being fucked by Jack shattering her last remnants of control.
Jack set a punishing pace, pounding into Nicole’s ass, which in turn drove her fist deeper into Bianca with every thrust. The room filled with the symphony of their degradation: skin slapping against skin, wet, squelching sounds, choked sobs, and guttural groans. The chains of their chastity belts clicked a mad, metallic rhythm against their bodies.
Bianca came first, a seizure that gripped her entire body, her ass clamping rhythmically around Nicole’s wrist, her scream a continuous, broken siren. The violent clenching triggered Nicole’s own orgasm, a silent, breathtaking wave that left her blind and shaking as Jack relentlessly fucked her through it.
Feeling Nicole’s internal muscles fluttering around his cock, Jack gave a final, deep roar and emptied himself inside her, his hot cum flooding her depths. He held himself there, pulsing, as the three of them collapsed into a heap of sweat-slicked, spent limbs on the hard floor.
For minutes, there was only the sound of labored breathing. Jack was the first to move, withdrawing from Nicole with a soft, wet sound. Nicole, whimpering, gently pulled her hand free from Bianca, whose body gave a final, spent shudder.
Jack looked down at them, at their glazed eyes, their flushed skin, their belts glistening with sweat and lube. He saw not just compliance, but a fundamental reshaping. The foundation, as he had promised, was clean. The medical bay had broken what was there. This, here on his floor, was the first true layer of something new being built.
He stood, his energy seemingly undiminished. “On the couch,” he said, his voice soft but absolute. “Curl up. Sleep.”
They obeyed, moving like automatons, collapsing onto the soft leather in a tangle. He threw a cashmere blanket over them. As consciousness fled, Bianca felt the cool metal of her belt against Nicole’s thigh, and the solid, possessive weight of it felt not like a prison, but like an anchor. The last thing she heard was Jack pouring another drink, and the soft, satisfied click of his glass on the table. The lesson was over. For now.