Chapter 8: The Anal Claim
The sting of her palm was still a fresh heat on Margot’s skin when Allison’s thumb found her. Not her clit. Lower. The tight, untouched furl of her asshole, already damp from sweat and the slick dripping from her used cunt.
“You didn’t answer me, my quiet girl.” The words were a growl, vibration against Margot’s spine. Allison’s cock was still buried deep inside her, a thick, relentless presence. Her thumb pressed, a blunt, circling threat against the resistant pucker.
Margot whimpered, a high, strained sound. The duality was madness: fullness ahead, invasion threatening behind. Her mind scrabbled for purchase, found none.
Allison pulled out.
The sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold, aching void. Before Margot could even process the loss, the slick, broad pad of Allison’s thumb pushed past the tight ring of muscle. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. A blunt, undeniable intrusion.
Margot cried out, her body bowing against the collar, her fingers scraping against the floorboards. It burned, a sharp, tearing stretch that flooded her system with panic.
“There we go,” Allison murmured, her voice all dark satisfaction. She worked her thumb in to the knuckle, twisted it slowly, a crude preparation. “Just making room for me. You’re so fucking tight here. Virgin territory.” She withdrew her thumb with a wet pop.
Then, the pressure changed.
Something broader, infinitely more substantial, nudged against the same fevered, clenching entrance. The wide, slick crown of Allison’s cock.
“I’m going to take this ass now,” Allison said, her tone conversational, almost casual, as if discussing the weather. Her hands clamped on Margot’s hips, bones in a vise. “And you’re going to scream for me.”
She pressed.
The ring of muscle resisted, a tight, protesting band. Margot’s breath hitched, trapped in her throat. She shook her head, a frantic, minute movement against the wood. A plea without sound.
Allison leaned her weight forward.
The head pushed past, a slow, inexorable breach that felt less like penetration and more like being split open from the root. The burn was incandescent, a white-hot line of pure sensation that obliterated all previous thought. Margot’s mouth opened in a silent, agonized scream.
Then Allison gave a sharp, brutal thrust, seating herself to the hilt in one ruthless motion.
The scream found its voice, raw and shattered, muffled by the post her face was crushed against. It was too much. A fullness that bordered on violence, a deep, internal rearrangement that scraped the edges of her sanity. Every nerve ending was a live wire, shrieking.
“Fuck,” Allison groaned, her own voice strained with the effort of control. She didn’t move for a long moment, letting Margot feel every inch, every throbbing pulse buried inside her. “God, you’re perfect. Like a fucking vise.”
She began to move.
The strokes were slow, at first. Deep, grinding pulls that dragged the entire, impossible length of her cock back through that clutching tightness before plunging in again. Each thrust was a calculated act of possession, a mapping of uncharted, intimate space.
“Mine,” Allison grunted, the rhythm starting to build, becoming less careful, more demanding. “This deep, dark little hole is mine now. Say it.”
Margot couldn’t speak. Her world was the splitting pressure, the creak of the frame, the animal sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Tears blurred her vision, spotting the wood beneath her.
Allison’s hand snaked around her hip, fingers seeking, finding the swollen, sensitive bud of her clit. She didn’t just rub it. She pinched it, hard, between her thumb and forefinger, then rolled it with a rough, demanding rhythm that directly countered the deep, pounding invasion behind.
The conflicting signals short-circuited Margot’s nervous system. Pain and pleasure fused into a single, intolerable current. A second orgasm, unwanted, impossible, began to coil in her gut, built from the ruins of her overstimulated body.
“That’s it,” Allison panted, her thrusts turning erratic, piston-hard and fast. Her fingers worked Margot’s clit with a filthy, precise urgency. “Come on my cock while I wreck your ass. Come for me, you filthy, perfect slut.”
The command tipped her over the edge.
Orgasm tore through her with a violence that dwarfed the first. It was a seizure of pleasure, wrenched from a place of pain, a convulsive, screaming release that made her ass clamp down viscously around the invading thickness. Her body bucked and spasmed against the restraints, a wild animal caught in a trap of its own making. The sounds she made were not human; they were guttural, broken things, pure sensory overload given voice.
Allison rode out the storm, her own control snapping. Her hips slammed forward, erratically, as a raw, open-mout groan was ripped from her chest. Margot felt the hot, sudden pulse deep inside her, a flood of wet heat that seemed to go on and on, marking that secret, now-conquered space.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the soft, wet drip of spent bodies.
Slowly, carefully, Allison withdrew. The sensation was a strange, hollow emptiness, a raw, throbbing ache. Margot sagged in the cuffs, held up only by the collar, utterly spent, a vessel drained.
Allison’s hands were surprisingly gentle as they unhooked the collar from the post, then released the ankle cuffs. Margot collapsed forward onto the rug, a boneless heap, trembling uncontrollably. The coarse fibers scratched her heated skin.
She heard Allison move to the sofa, the soft clink of glass. A moment later, a hand smoothed her sweat-damp hair back from her face. The cool rim of a glass touched her lips.
“Drink.” It wasn’t a request.
Margot sipped the whiskey, the burn a clean, familiar anchor in the chaos of her body. She coughed.
Allison settled onto the rug beside her, leaning back against the sofa, her own breathing evening out. She didn’t speak. She just watched Margot in the dim light, her green eyes unreadable, tracing the tracks of tears, the bloom of fingerprints on her hips, the utterly claimed ruin of her.
Finally, she reached out and ran a single, possessive knuckle down Margot’s flushed cheek.
“Good girl,” she said, the words soft, final, and hung in the air between them, heavier than any chain.