Chapter 13: 69 with Benefits: A Lesson in Shared Servitude
The command hung in the air, a cold shard interrupting the warm, secret haze of their aftermath. For a fleeting second, a unified defiance sparked between them—a silent, shared refusal to move from the nest they’d made in the couch’s leather. It died the moment Jack took a single step into the room.
The reality of him, of the plugs still seated deep in their asses, of the entire preceding day, reasserted itself with the force of a slammed door. They untangled themselves, movements stiff with spent pleasure and fresh dread. The black shifts, damp and rumpled, were pulled down. They stood, avoiding each other’s eyes now, the earlier intimacy feeling like a stolen thing about to be confiscated.
“Follow,” he said, and turned.
He led them not to a new room, but deeper into the dungeon’s heart, to a space they hadn’t seen. The air grew cooler. The lighting shifted from dim gold to a faint, pervasive red, casting everything in the hue of a darkroom or an artery. In the center of the room, suspended from heavy chains bolted into the ceiling, was a bench.
It was a masterpiece of clinical restraint. A steel slab, polished to a sinister gleam, angled slightly upward. It was fitted with adjustable rests for knees and elbows, and lined with cold black leather pads. A labyrinth of chains, cuffs, and straps hung within easy reach. The tools on the surrounding walls were not the playful paddles or silken ropes of a fantasy suite; these were implements of serious purpose—heavy floggers with falls of braided leather, mean-looking crops, sinister silicone sounds, and a series of wicked, graduated plugs that made the ones inside them look modest.
“The intimacy you discovered was instructive,” Jack said, his voice echoing slightly in the stark space. He ran a hand along the cold steel of the bench. “But it was self-directed. A rebellion. Here, intimacy will be dictated. It will be structural.”
He pointed to the bench. “Bianca, on your back. Nicole, atop her, facing her feet. You know the position.”
A 69. On that thing. Bianca’s stomach tightened. The memory of Nicole’s taste, her fingers, was still vivid. To have it forced, under this red light, on this cold slab, twisted the memory into something else.
They climbed onto the bench. The steel was shockingly cold through the thin cotton of their shifts. Bianca lay back, the leather pad doing little to cushion her. Nicole straddled her, knees on either side of Bianca’s head, and lowered herself. Their faces were buried between each other’s thighs. The world narrowed to the scent of musk and sex, the view of Nicole’s dark curls and the flushed, swollen lips of her cunt hovering inches from Bianca’s mouth. Below, Bianca felt the heat of Nicole’s breath on her own exposed folds.
Jack’s hands were on them, efficient, securing padded cuffs around their ankles and wrists, linking them to points on the bench. They were not fully restrained, but anchored, their mobility reduced to the subtle arching of backs and the turning of heads.
"I'll remove the dildos now. Brace yourself - the will be dry now," Jack announced. He moved behind Nicole, took a firm grip and started pulling. She shrieked. At first, it felt as if the thing would pull out her colon with it. Then, after an inch or so, it finally started slipping. She cryed through the whole process and Bianca's heart sunk realizing that she wouldn't fare any better. And she was right.
After a while, both dildos where free. “You will pleasure each other,” his voice came from somewhere above and between them. “You will use your mouths, and you will use your fingers. You will open each other’s asses. I want to see your fingers buried to the knuckle in that tight, dark hole while your tongue is on her clit. I want to see you stretch each other.”
He paused, letting the image sear into their minds. “And I will be here. To ensure the work is thorough.”
A bottle of lube, colder than the bench, was placed between Bianca’s splayed legs. A twin was placed near Nicole’s hip.
Nicole moved first. Her tongue, tentative then firm, licked a broad stripe up Bianca’s slit. Bianca jolted, a gasp caught in her throat. It was different. It was performative. Required. She reciprocated, parting Nicole’s folds with her tongue, finding the hard, eager bud of her clit. The taste was familiar, but the context made it a violation. They were engines of pleasure, tuned by his command.
They fell into a rhythm, a mimicry of their earlier passion, but now under observation. The sounds were wet, obscene, amplified in the quiet room. Bianca’s whole world became the heat and weight of Nicole on her face, the musky scent, the twitch of Nicole’s thighs against her ears.
“Fingers,” Jack’s voice cut through the sensory fog. “Now. Assholes. Don’t be gentle. They’re already stretched. Make them feel it.”
Bianca’s hand, slick with her own saliva and Nicole’s wetness, groped for the lube. She coated two fingers, her heart hammering. She reached back, past Nicole’s working mouth, past the curve of her ass. Using her thumb to part Nicole’s cheeks, she found the dark, wrinkled pucker, still loose and tender from the plug. She pressed.
Nicole’s mouth stuttered on her clit, a muffled moan vibrating against Bianca’s flesh. Bianca pushed her middle finger in, past the tight ring, into the incredible, clenching heat within. It was intensely intimate, more so than the cunt-feasting. She was inside her, in a forbidden place, by command.
Above, she felt Nicole’s own slippery fingers questing, finding her own asshole. The dual sensation was overwhelming: Nicole’s tongue circling her clit while a finger, then two, pushed steadily into her rectum. The stretch burned beautifully. Bianca cried out, the sound muffled by Nicole’s cunt.
“That’s it,” Jack murmured. He was moving around them, a shadow in the red light. “Fuck her ass with your fingers. Corrupt each other. Make a mess.”
And they did. They finger-fucked each other’s assholes with a growing, desperate rhythm, their mouths locked on clits, their bodies writhing on the cold steel. The intimacy was now a cage. The pleasure was a mandate. Bianca felt an orgasm coiling, a treacherous snake in her gut, born of this forced, filthy synergy.
Just as the tension became unbearable, Jack’s hands were on them. He pulled Nicole’s fingers from Bianca’s ass with a wet pop. Before Bianca could register the loss, she felt the broad, blunt pressure of his cockhead, slick with fresh lube, replace them.
“Yes!,” she whimpered, but the word was lost in a gargle.
He didn’t shove. He pressed, inexorably, and her body, prepped and betrayed by her own partner’s fingers, yielded. He filled her ass in one long, deep, invading stroke. Bianca screamed into Nicole’s cunt, her body bowing against the restraints. It was fuller, harder, more personal than the machine. It was ownership.
He set a punishing pace, each thrust rocking Bianca forward, her face grinding into Nicole. Nicole, in turn, was sobbing, her own rhythm broken. Then Jack withdrew from Bianca, and Bianca felt the bench shift as he positioned himself behind Nicole.
“Your turn,” he grunted.
The same brutal invasion happened to Nicole. Bianca felt her entire body tense, a sharp, high cry tearing from her as Jack speared her partner’s ass. Now they had both been impaled, connected through the chain of violation, their moans harmonizing into a chorus of helpless pleasure-pain.
Jack fucked Nicole’s ass hard and deep, his balls slapping against her, the sound echoing Bianca’s own wet, rhythmic fucking from moments before. After a dozen strokes, he pulled out again, leaving Nicole gasping and empty.
He returned to Bianca.
He began to switch between them, a relentless rotation. Two, three, four brutal thrusts into Bianca’s clutching, sore rectum, then he’d withdraw and plunge into Nicole’s. It was impossible to anticipate. They could never relax. Just as one began to adjust to the brutal fullness, it was ripped away, only to return moments later with renewed force. It kept them perpetually on the edge of shock, their assholes stretched and used in a chaotic, shared rhythm.
“You’re just two holes to be managed,” Jack breathed, his own breath becoming ragged with exertion. “Interchangeable. Your connection is just a convenience for my use.”
The degradation was absolute. Their shared experience was being systematically broken down into pure, animal function. Bianca’s mind fragmented. There was only the heat of Nicole on her mouth, the devastating invasion of Jack’s cock, the cold steel beneath her, and the red light burning her closed eyelids.
The switching became faster, more erratic. He’d take Bianca, then Nicole, then Bianca again, sometimes giving a single, brutal thrust, sometimes a short, rapid volley. They were sobbing, begging into each other’s flesh, their words unintelligible.
Finally, with a final, deep plunge into Nicole’s ass that made her shriek, Jack stiffened. Bianca felt Nicole’s inner muscles clamp down in a spasm around the invading cock. With a low, guttural growl, Jack emptied himself into Nicole’s bowels, a hot, claiming flood. He held himself there, pulsing, as Nicole trembled violently.
He pulled out, a slick, obscene sound, and turned to Bianca. He was still rock hard, gleaming with sweat and lube and their shared wetness. Without a word, he drove back into her ravaged ass, fucking her through his own climax and into a second wind. Bianca was raw, overstimulated, her body a conduit for his will. He pounded into her, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, until with another hoarse shout, he came inside her too, filling her with the same hot, intimate violation.
He collapsed above them for a moment, his weight heavy on the their stacked bodies, his breath hot on Bianca’s thigh. Then he stood.
He uncuffed them. The sudden freedom was almost as painful as the restraint. They slid off the bench, collapsing onto the floor, which was shockingly cold compared to the heated metal. They curled into themselves, their bodies leaking his cum and their own fluids.
Jack looked down at them, a satisfied exhaustion in his own posture. He tossed two thick, white towels onto the floor beside them.
“Clean up,” he said, his voice rough but calm. He fastened his pants, his gaze sweeping over their broken forms. “You shared everything tonight. Your mouths, your asses, your degradation. Remember this feeling. This is your foundation.”
He walked to the door, pausing as he had before. “Sleep where you are. The floor is reminder enough of your place.”
The heavy door thudded shut, leaving them in the blood-colored dark. They didn’t move toward the towels. They didn’t move toward each other. They lay on the cold floor, their bodies humming with a shared, brutalized history, the taste of each other and the feel of him inside them mixing into a single, inescapable truth. The intimacy was gone. What remained was a stark, empty merger, carved out by his cock and his will. The foundation, as he called it, was nothing but rubble and salt.