Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
He does it again.
This time, I feel my teeth rattle, and my eyes roll back in my head.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And by the sixth thrust, I’m back to being that fully surrendered fuck toy, just taking everything he’s willing to give, each stroke pulling me deeper and deeper into an ocean of mind-numbing bliss.
I could drown in it, and I would die happily.
And then I’m aware he’s pistoning his hips faster than I’ve ever felt before, his right hand leaving my hip to grip the back of my neck, then moves to my shoulder to give him even more leverage to fuck me like a savage beast. Like he’s breeding me. And I freaking love it.
“Color?” floats around in my head, and I don’t know if it’s a distant memory of some other time he asked me to check in, or if it’s been freshly spoken in my ear. Either way, my response leaves me in a sigh.
“Green, Master.”
If he hadn’t just asked me, then the words would only serve to urge him on. And that is fine by me.
Somewhere along this floating journey, a voice whispers that this must be subspace. The way people always described it before, it sounded much like dissociation, but my husband had assured me it was a much more positive experience than that.
I had dissociated during my assault five years ago, and while you’d think your mind shutting down to protect itself during a traumatic event would be a good feeling, it was actually scary and traumatizing in itself, since at the time, it didn’t feel like I’d ever come out of it, not even when I was safely back in Seth’s arms.
This is nothing like that.
This is what movies make you think being drunk or high feels like before you ever try those things yourself and reality bursts your bubble.
This is like that one quick second between a happy dream and waking up, when you don’t quite know what’s real.
And as blissfully relaxed as it is, I also feel stronger and more powerful than I’ve ever felt before, like I’m invincible. Like no amount of pain could hurt me in this state. In fact, it’s almost as if the more pain I’m given, the deeper into this level of consciousness I’d go. And it occurs to me that this is probably what masochists are seeking whenever they play. Yes, they get off on the pain itself, but the pain leads to this. The delicious in-between. That same relief you get when you scratch a mosquito bite so hard you draw blood, and even though it hurts, you keep scratching, because the relief is worth the pain.
And then I’m coming. I’m orgasming, my pussy spasming and rippling around my Master’s relentless cock as he pounds into me. But it’s not the usual earth-shattering explosion that hits all at once after a build-up of stimulation. It’s completely different, like I’m living in that moment right between the detonation and the mushroom cloud, as if someone hit pause on the exact frame that only shows a cylinder of flames before there’s any smoke.
Or that moment after a scream but before your next inhale.
And I’m not coming out of it.
Yet unlike when I dissociated, the thought of staying like this isn’t scary. I don’t want to struggle against it or fight my way back to the surface of cognition. I could live here forever, with my Master fucking me into literal oblivion, my only purpose in life to be the vessel he takes his pleasure from.
“Color?”
“Fuuck…”
“…fill you up until you can taste it…”
“…marks on you, don’t you?”
“Brand you with…”
“Take it like a good…”
“Yeah…”
“…my pretty toy?”
“…slutty little pussy wants…”
My Master’s filthy words are birds that fly diagonally through my consciousness, entering from the bottom, then exiting out the top, or dive-bombing from above and disappearing beneath.
But as his grip on my shoulder tightens and he loops his other arm around the front of my hips, my body seeming weightless as he pulls me on and off his cock while he fucks up into me, using me like the sex doll I aimed to be for him, I hear it loud and clear when he yanks me up to growl in my ear.
“Take it all.”
With one last thrust that’s violent enough to bruise my insides—and a weird part of me hopes it does—he comes with a roar that breaks my entire body out in chills. His grip on me is brutal as I feel jet after jet of hot cum coat my walls, feeling like a soothing balm on the pain I begged for.
CHAPTER 22
Seven
Every muscle in my body is at its tension limit as I come deep inside my doll’s fist-like pussy. If I were to flex a single fiber any harder, that piece of me would be shredded. And with the last pulse of my orgasm, all of that tension leaves me at once, making me feel faint.