And yet, when Julian reaches between my legs and strokes me there, I’m horrified to realize that I’m wet.
That pleases him. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the satisfaction emanating from him as he begins to play with my clit, occasionally dipping the tip of one finger inside me to monitor my physical response to his stimulation. His movements are sure, not the least bit hesitant. He knows exactly what to do to enhance my arousal, how to touch me to make me come.
I hate that, his expertise in bringing me pleasure. How many women has he done this to? Surely it takes practice to get so good at making a woman orgasm despite her fear and reluctance.
None of this matters to my body, of course. With each stroke of his skilled fingers, the tension inside me builds and intensifies, the insidious pressure starting to gather low in my belly. I moan, my hips involuntarily pushing toward him as he continues to play with my sex. He’s not touching me anywhere else, just there, but it seems to be enough to drive me insane.
“Oh yes,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss my neck. “Come for me, my pet.”
As though obeying his command, my inner muscles contract . . . and then the climax rushes through me with the force of a freight train. I forget to be afraid; I forget everything in that moment except the pleasure exploding through my nerve endings.
Before I can recover, he pushes me onto the bed, face down. I hear him moving, doing something, and then he lifts me and arranges me on top of a mound of pillows, elevating my hips. Now I’m lying on my stomach with my ass sticking out and my hands tied behind my back, even more exposed and vulnerable than before. I turn my head sideways, so I don’t suffocate in the mattress.
My tears, which had almost stopped before, begin again. I have a terrible suspicion I know what he’s going to do to me now.
When I feel something cool and wet between my butt cheeks, my suspicion is confirmed. He’s spreading lube on me, preparing me for what’s to come.
“Please, don’t.” The words are wrenched out of me. I know that begging is useless. I know that he has no mercy, that it turns him on to see me like this—but I can’t help it. I can’t accept that additional violation. I just can’t. “Please.”
“Hush, baby,” he murmurs, stroking the curve of my buttocks with his large palm. “I’ll teach you to enjoy this too.”
I hear more sounds, and then I feel something pushing into me, into that other opening. I tense, clenching my muscles with all my might, but the pressure is too much to resist and the thing begins to penetrate me.
“Stop,” I moan as a burning pain begins, and Julian actually listens this time, pausing for a second.
“Relax, my pet,” he says softly, caressing my leg with one of his hands. “It’ll go much better if you relax.”
“Take it out,” I beg. “Please take it out.”
“Nora,” he says, his tone suddenly harsh. “I told you to relax. It’s nothing but a small toy. It won’t hurt you if you relax.”
“Isn’t hurting me the whole point?” I ask bitterly. “Isn’t that what gets your rocks off?”
“Do you want me to hurt you?” His voice is soft, almost hypnotic. “It would get my rocks off, you’re right . . . Is that what you want, my pet? For me to hurt you?”
No, I don’t. I don’t want that at all. I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head and do my best to relax. I don’t think I’m successful at it. It’s just too wrong, the feeling of something pushing in there from the outside.
Nonetheless, Julian seems pleased with my efforts. “Good,” he croons. “Good girl, there we go . . .” He applies steady pressure, and the thing goes deeper into me, past the resistance of my sphincter, inch by slow inch. When it’s all the way in, he pauses, letting me get used to the sensation.
The burning pain is still there, as is the almost nauseating feeling of fullness. I focus on taking small, even breaths and not moving. After about a minute, the pain begins to subside, leaving only the disorienting sensation of a foreign object lodged inside my body.
Julian leaves the toy in place and starts stroking me all over, his touch oddly gentle. He starts with my feet, rubbing them, finding all the kinks and massaging them away. Then he moves up my calves and thighs, which are almost vibrating with tension. His hands are skilled and sure on my body; what he’s doing is better than any massage I’ve ever had. Despite everything, I feel myself melting into his touch, my muscles turning to mush under his fingers. By the time he gets to my neck and shoulders, I’m as relaxed as I’ve been since waking up on this island. If I hadn’t been blindfolded, bound, and sodomized, I would’ve thought I was in a spa.
When he removes the toy some twenty minutes later, it slides right out, without even a hint of discomfort. He pushes it back in again, and this time, the pain is minimal. If anything, it feels . . . interesting . . . particularly when his fingers find my clit and begin stimulating it again.
I don’t resist the pleasure those fingers bring me. Why bother? I would take pleasure over pain any day of the week. Julian is going to do whatever he wants, and I might as well enjoy some parts of it.
So I divorce my mind from the wrongness of it all and let myself simply feel. I can’t see anything with the blindfold, and I can’t put up much of a fight with my hands tied behind my back. I’m completely helpless—and there’s something peculiarly liberating in that. There’s no point in worrying, no point in thinking. I’m simply drifting in the darkness, high on post-massage endorphins.
He fucks me with the toy, pushing it in and out of me at the same time as his fingers press on my clit. His movements are rhythmic, coordinated, and I moan as my sex starts to throb, the pressure inside me growing with each thrust. Abruptly, the tension gets to be too much, and there’s a sudden, intense burst of pleasure, starting at my core and radiating outward. My muscles clamp down on the toy, and the unusual sensation only intensifies my orgasm. Unable to control myself, I cry out, grinding against Julian’s fingers. I want the ecstasy to last forever.
All too soon, though, it’s over, and I’m left limp and shaking in the aftermath. Julian is not done with me, of course, not by a long shot. Just as I’m starting to recover, he withdraws the toy and presses a different, larger object to my back opening. It’s his cock, I realize, tensing again as he begins to push in.
“Nora . . .” There is a warning note in his voice, and I know what he wants from me, but I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can relax enough to let him in. It’s too much; he’s too thick, too long. I don’t understand how something that big can enter me there without ripping me apart.
But he’s relentless, and I feel my muscles slowly giving in, unable to resist the pressure he’s applying. The head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of my sphincter, and I cry out at the burning, stretching sensation. “Shh,” he says soothingly, stroking my back as he slowly goes deeper. “Shh . . . it’s all good . . .”
By the time he’s in all the way, I’m a trembling, sweating mess. There’s pain, yes, but there’s also the novelty of having something so large invading my body in this weird, unnatural way. I know people do this—and supposedly even derive pleasure from this act—but I can’t imagine ever doing this willingly.
He pauses, letting me adjust to the sensations, and I sob softly into the mattress, wanting nothing more than for this to be over. He’s patient, though, his strong hands caressing me, relaxing me, until my tears subside and I no longer feel like passing out.
He senses it when my discomfort begins to ease, and starts to move inside me, slowly, carefully. I can hear his harsh breathing, and I know that he’s exerting a lot of control over himself, that he probably wants to fuck me harder but is trying not to ‘damage me beyond repair.’ Nevertheless, his movements cause my insides to twist and churn, causing me to cry out with every stroke.