Inside the Hotel Bentmoore: Training Ella

“PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHY you spent the night in Miss Peterson’s room.”

Mr. Cox rubbed his cheek and sighed, feeling the stubble there. He had managed to shower that morning, but not shave, and he could feel the lapse now on his face. He wondered if he should skip shaving another day, and see if Ella liked his prickly cheeks rubbing against her nipples.

“Answer me, Cox.”

Mr. Cox creased his brows as he gazed at Mr. Bentmoore, sitting tall and somber behind his desk. The old man looked concerned, but not as angry as Mr. Cox had feared he would be.

“I found her wandering the hallway, crying and shaking. She was going through subdrop,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “She needed someone with her.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you going into her private bedroom was a serious transgression. You should have found an empty activity room.”

“I was tired,” Mr. Cox replied. “I wasn’t thinking straight. It was a difficult night.”

“That’s true; but you still knew better.” Mr. Bentmoore paused. “This thing between you and Miss Peterson, I don’t know if I like where it’s going.”

“I don’t know where it’s going, but I like where it’s been,” Mr. Cox said, looking vaguely away and smiling his twisted smile.

“Cox.”

“Yes Sir.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re losing focus.”

Mr. Cox gave Mr. Bentmoore an impassive stare. “No, Sir. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you now.” The two men studied each other, but Mr. Bentmoore blinked first. “I’ll let your mistake slide—this time. Like you said, it was a difficult night.”

“Thank you, Sir. If I may ask, what’s the status on the Martins?”

“Sandy’s agreed to stay here and try to work things out with Shawn. But she’s refusing to wear Shawn’s collar until she believes the relationship can be saved. The two of them had an uncollaring ceremony this morning. Mr. Dean was there—he told me both of them were inconsolable. The whole situation is heartbreaking.”

“I hope they can work things out.”

“As do I.”

“If that will be all, Sir…?”

“Yes, that will be all.”

Mr. Cox took a few steps toward the door, but was halted once more. “One more thing, Cox. You didn’t discuss the Martins’ situation with Miss Peterson, did you?” As Mr. Cox turned around, Mr. Bentmoore continued, “You know discussing our other guests and their issues with Miss Peterson, even without mentioning names, would be a severe breach in conduct. Such an offense would force me to take drastic action.”

The moment stretched, and this time, neither man blinked.

“I realize that, Sir,” Mr. Cox finally replied. “Like I said, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“I’m glad,” Mr. Bentmoore murmured. “Thank you, Mr. Cox. Please continue to keep me posted on Miss Peterson’s progress.”

Mr. Cox kept Ella in the training belt for three days. She didn’t have to wear it all the time, thank goodness; he gave her long breaks. But when she was wearing it, he made sure to check on her often, both to make sure the plug was sufficiently lubricated, and sometimes, to change the size of the plug itself.

When they were playing, he would sometimes yank it in and out of her asshole like a fucking dildo, just to listen to her yelp and moan. But most of the time he would just ignore it, and fuck her pussy while she still had it on. Ella would feel his cock rubbing against the hard plug through her thin membranes, and she would wonder if he could feel it, too. (She didn’t ask.)

Their play sessions involved more rope now: Mr. Cox was spending an inordinate amount of time tying her up in different poses. He seemed to favor the hemp rope, although he also used braided nylon and, on occasion, cotton.

Ella was slowly beginning to love her bondage sessions. Perhaps, under other circumstances, her prey instincts would have risen up, and she would have fought him harder. But with the butt plug lodged firmly up her ass, she was hardly in any position to fight. It was both a physical, and psychological, restraint.

By the afternoon of the third day, Ella could tell something was coming. Mr. Cox had been working her up to something big, and now, by the light she saw in his eyes, she could tell he thought she was ready.

He told her to be ready for his summons late that night, and she was: when she walked into their activity room, she wore nothing but a cupless PVC bra, the rubber training belt, and a pair of outrageously wicked high-heeled shoes. She had parted her glorious gold hair into two pleats, and brushed them over her breasts. Her thick blonde locks covered her pink puckered nipples, but her crotch and ass were well on display.

Mr. Cox stared at her in wonder. “Ella,” he said. “My god.”

She swept her hair away from her breasts and turned around in a slow circle to show him. “You like?”

“Like is not the word. Where did you get the bra?”

“I asked the seamstress to make it for me.”

“That woman needs a raise,” Mr. Cox breathed. Ella grinned and looked down. Mr. Cox had never served her with false praise; he had never offered her kind words just to appease her. For him to compliment her like this felt extra nice.

Then she looked around. She had never been in this room before. But there was nothing in the room she had never seen before, nothing but a pair of stainless steel hoops hanging down from the ceiling by thick pieces of chain, about two feet apart. They reminded Ella of the men’s gymnastics rings she had seen at tournaments on T.V. A heavy square pad lay under the rings.

“They’re hard points,” Mr. Cox explained, following her eyes up and down the thick dangling pieces of chain. “Either one of the rings can hold a man’s weight.”

“Do you do exercises on them?”

Mr. Cox began to laugh, hard. “No, Ella.”

Ella scowled as Mr. Cox fought down his laughter. “Then what are they for?”

Mr. Cox grinned and crossed his arms. “They’re for you. I’m going to tie you up and make you fly.” He stepped up in front of her and looked down at her bewildered face. “I have a scene in mind for you, all planned out in my head. I’ve been picturing it for a while now. I want everything to be perfect…but it’s going to be brutal. Are you willing?”

Ella eyed the rings. “How brutal?”

Mr. Cox went to the bed and yanked the top blanket away, uncovering a vast array of rope, rings, hooks, and other BDSM equipment. Scanning the bed, he picked up a large metal hook: it had an O-ring on one end, and a monstrous metal ball on the other.

“This is an anal hook,” he said, holding it up for her to see. “I’m going to put it up your ass. The end will curve up your back,” he pointed up the length of the hook, “and I’ll tie your hair to the ring.”

Ella’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to put that thing up my ass? That’s what all this training has been for. I thought….”

“I’m going to tie you up, rig you up, fuck you up, and play with you for as long as I want. I’ll beat you raw. Some parts you’ll enjoy, and some parts you won’t, but I can guarantee you this will be one of the most erotic memories you will ever have. You have to agree to it first, though. What do you say?”

He waited patiently for Ella to give it some thought.

“I want to,” she said quietly. “But I have my own way I want to start the scene, and you’ll need to take this plug out of my ass. Can you do that?”

Mr. Cox’s mouth curved into his notorious twisted smile, and his eyes darkened with anticipation. “Of course,” he said, motioning toward the bed. “Bend over.”

“First….” Ella peeled off her bra and slipped her feet out of her shoes. After putting them under the narrow bedside table, out of the way, she bent over the bed.

Mr. Cox barely touched her skin as he unbuckled the belt from around her waist and thighs, but Ella felt every whisper-soft skim of his fingers. When the rubber straps were away, he tapped her feet wider apart with his toe, and pushed her back further down on the bed.

“Take a breath,” he said, digging his fingers into the large handle pressing into her buttocks. Ella took a deep breath, and as she let it out, Mr. Cox dragged the butt plug out of her ass in one single pull. Ella tensed, but in a second, it was out.

“I think I’ll just leave this right here for now,” Mr. Cox said, putting the butt plug on the bedside table, standing straight up, shiny and obscene. “Now what do you have in mind?”

“This.” Before Mr. Cox knew what she was about, Ella ran around the bed and grabbed a short wooden paddle from among the collection of toys. She waved it in front of herself, wiggling her hips and grinning at Mr. Cox, who stared at her from the other side of the bed in surprise.

“I’m armed this time,” she said. “You might take me down, but I’ll get a few licks of my own in first.”

Mr. Cox’s whole demeanor changed. His jaw clenched, and his eyes danced with glee. He radiated devious determination and cunning savagery.

“Oh, princess, you have no idea what fire you’re playing with. You’re going to get burned—badly.” He was smiling as he said it, but the storm in his eyes blew turbulent.

As Ella watched, he began to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. Her mouth went dry as he rolled them all the way up his arms, uncovering tanned skin and thick muscle. All the while, he never took his eyes off her.

“You want to come after me? Go ahead. Just know you’ll pay for it later.”

Ella swallowed, trying to get some spit back in her mouth. “It sounds to me like I’m going to pay later no matter what.”

“That’s true.”

He gave her no warning: one second he was staring at her, the next he was sprinting around the bed, trying to make a grab for her. Ella ducked away just in time, and thwacked his bottom with the paddle as she pivoted, laughing in triumph.

“Gotcha,” she grinned.

“My turn,” Mr. Cox growled, putting his hands out like claws.

The chase was on.

Ella felt like she was fleeing for dear life. She ducked and ran, eluding him time and again, keeping herself clear from the corners. They both laughed as if it was a game, but each of them knew differently: Ella was goading him on, teasing him to pursue her harder, and Mr. Cox was giving in gladly.

She knew she would be caught; it was only a matter of time. The truth was, she wanted to be caught. She was the ultimate prize. But Mr. Cox would have to earn his prize. He had to conquer before he could pillage.

She got in a few good thwacks with the paddle, and yelled in victory with each one. But her last one was her undoing, as Mr. Cox baited her first, waited for her to venture an attack with an outstretched arm, and grabbed her by the wrist before she could pull away. Ella howled as he pried the paddle out of her palm.

“Now,” he whispered, “you pay.”

He dragged her over to the bed, yanked her across his lap, and began to spank her upturned bottom with the same paddle she had just been using on him.

“I was only trying to be funny!” She cried over the cracks of the paddle.

“So am I,” Mr. Cox replied. “Why aren’t you laughing? I won’t stop until you’re laughing.”

“I can’t laugh, it hurts!” Even through the wallops of the stingy wood, she let out a short giggle. Now that Mr. Cox had won, they could both celebrate in her defeat.

“This is barely a warm up, and you know it,” Mr. Cox said, paddling her harder. “Now be still.”

“No!” Ella writhed across his lap. Mr. Cox grabbed her arm and twisted it painfully behind her, spanking her faster with the paddle.

“Goddamn it, Ella, be still!”

“No!”

He dropped the paddle on the bed, grabbed the anal hook beside it, and pressed the hard ball against the crack of her bottom, digging it between her cheeks. Instantly, Ella went still.

“This can go in with lube, or without,” he said. “Which is it to be?”

Ella’s whole body tensed. “With,” she cried. “Please.”

“Then fucking lie still.”

He reached his hand to the bedside table, pulled out the bottle of lube, and began to coat the shiny metal ball until it slipped and slid inside his hand. Ella lay inert across his lap, listening to him coat the slick ball, feeling nervous.

She jumped when she felt Mr. Cox’s hand inside the crack of her ass.

“Relax, Ella, or this’ll hurt more.”

Using all her training, Ella took deep breaths, and willed her body to relax.

“That’s it. That’s it, my little clit-toy.”

He began to rub her down, soothing her like a skittish horse, using words he knew would help her sink into subspace. Ella sank quickly, lulled by his soft murmurs and gentle caresses.

Mr. Cox rubbed her legs, ass, and crack, gliding his fingers across her soft skin, feeling her let go. When he thought she was ready, he slipped a lubed finger up her ass, and met no resistance at all.

But she moaned as he pumped his finger in and out of her asshole. “Good girl, Ella. Good girl. Relax.” Ella moaned again, but kept calm.

She felt something cold and hard press against her sphincter, and knew he was inserting the ball.

It didn’t scare her until it got to the widest part. Then Ella began to fight it.

“Please Sir, it’s too big, please, just give me a minute to—uh!” Her tight sphincter muscles cringed around the ball, and all of Ella’s sinews went taut.

Mr. Cox didn’t push the ball forward, but he didn’t pull it back, either. He grabbed Ella’s fingers, and fit them around the stiff metal curve of the hook behind her.

“You push it in,” he said.

Ella held onto the hook with weak control. “Please, no,” she begged.

“Do it. Do it yourself, or I’ll do it my way.”

“Oh god.”

“Here, I’ll help.” Using both hands, he spread Ella’s ass cheeks open wide, forcing her already straining asshole to stretch even more. The ball slipped in another millimeter, and Ella whimpered.

He held her cheeks apart for her and watched in rapt attention as Ella pushed the ball into her back channel. Her sphincter distended and throbbed; the ball stuck out of her asshole obscenely. Ella heaved for breath, letting out a series of plaintive cries and desperate moans, and all the while, Mr. Cox duteously kept her ass cheeks spread wide, a perverse smile lighting up his face.

The ball began to disappear up her ass. Once it was through the widest diameter, her contracting muscles sucked it in the rest of the way. Finally, her asshole squeezed shut around the thick metal ball, and Ella went limp.

“Good girl,” Mr. Cox said in approval, rubbing the side of her ass. “My good little clit-toy.” He pushed the hook into her a bit further, getting a breathy moan from the hooked female, and smiled wider.

Then he yanked her head up by her hair, just enough to pull her out of her haze. “Get up,” he said. “Get under the rings.”

Awkwardly, taking wobbly, drunken steps with the metal hook curving up her back like a lewd silver tail, Ella walked under the hanging metal rings. Mr. Cox pushed her onto her knees, and Ella tumbled down, grabbing onto Mr. Cox’s hand on her shoulder for support. He let go as soon as she was stable, and went to the bed to get some rope.

The rope was twisted red hemp, thick and supple. “Hold your arms behind your back,” he ordered her now. Ella closed her eyes and grabbed her forearms behind her back, bending both arms at the elbow.

Mr. Cox began to tie her arms together behind her. First he tied her wrists; then he created a crisscross of diamond shapes across her svelte upper arms and lithe shoulder blades.

He winded the rope around her front, above and below her springy breasts. He would cup and squeeze her breasts as he worked, as if unable to stop himself from the distraction they presented; but most of his attention was on the rope. Ella let out tiny sounds of strain now and then, but other than that, she did not move.

When her arms were well anchored behind her, he helped her lie down on the mat, and went to get more rope.

Now he worked on her bent legs, braiding, looping, and knotting the rope so that her ankles were tucked to her thighs. He left her a little slack, so Ella would have blood circulation to her feet; but her legs were now well tied.

She felt like a trussed up pig.

When he was done, he helped her back up on her knees in a kneeling position.

“Now the hair,” he murmured, grabbing a fistful of her golden mane and giving it a tug before going to the bed to get the final piece of rope. He tied her hair behind her, high up on her head, and coiled the rope around her thick mop. Then he reached down, looped the rope into the ring of the anal hook, and cinched it tight. Ella’s head came up and stayed up, tied securely in place by the rope around her hair, anchored to the hook in her ass.

Mr. Cox caressed her shoulders and neck now, running his fingers along her soft arms, around her articulated collarbone, and down to her breasts that trembled with each breath. He cupped the soft tissue and hefted her weighty tits in his hands, fondling them softly, but was careful to leave her nipples alone. He would get to them soon enough, but it wasn’t time quite yet.

He came around to her front, and admired the view.

With her arms tied behind her and her back arched, Ella’s luscious breasts thrust out, lined with the rope, naked and ready for him. She sat on her heels as if in prayer, her knees pressing into the padded mat, facing him in benediction. Her legs were spread wide as she balanced on her knees, and her pussy lips stretched open, revealing red, wet, swollen cunt lips inside.

Her head was up, but her eyes were closed, her face smooth in soft repose. Her mouth was a tiny bit open, revealing two perfectly white teeth.

Now it was time to get busy.

Mr. Cox went to the bed and came back with a pile of clothespins in his hands. Sitting down next to her, he lined up the clothespins on the mat next to him—all except one.

He began to work her right nipple; pinching it, pulling it, and getting the skin nice and plump.

“Ella,” he said. “Ella, open your eyes. I want you to see this.”

Ella struggled out of the deep subspace she was in to open her eyes. Mr. Cox was holding open the clothespin for her to see. She didn’t have to ask what he was about to do; he was already pulling hard on her nipple, holding it ready.

Ella closed her eyes again and whimpered as she felt the wicked pin close on her nipple.

Mr. Cox did the left nipple next, working it the same way he had its sister: getting the puffy pink tissue good and hard, and then squeezing it into the pin. Ella cried out with this one; the pin felt twice as tight.

Now Mr. Cox began to line her breasts with clothespins, grabbing tiny pieces of skin to pinch and snare next. Ella’s whimpering grew louder with each one. Thick tears pooled in her eyes.

But she did not plead or struggle, a fact Mr. Cox noted with pride.

By the time he was done, four straight lines of clothespins went straight across each of Ella’s reddened, swollen breasts. Again, he took a moment to step back and admire the view.

Ella was sweating now. Tiny beads were shining on her face like pearls. She was flushed, breathing hard, and trembling with strain.

He got the whippy braided flogger…the one Ella hated the most.

“Time for the pins to come off,” he said. It was the only warning Ella got before he began to flog the pins off her breasts.

Ella began to wail now, her face contorting with agony as each strike of the flogger felt like a thousand tiny bee stings piercing her soft tit-flesh. But the prickling slashes of the flogger were nothing compared to the pins being ripped off her areolae and nipples; those made her feel like she was being shredded to pieces.

Ella howled and cried, unable to move, unable to control the rush of sensations coursing through her, pulling her down into the deep void of subspace.

When all the pins were off and Ella’s breasts were free, mottled with pale impressions of the pins, Mr. Cox took a moment to breathe. Then he came around and began to flog her shoulders and back, whipping her hard, making Ella cry out once more in shock and pain. The rope going across her shoulder blades protected her a little, but not much, and Mr. Cox was putting all his force in each strike. By the time he was done, he was breathing hard himself.

He threw the flogger on the bed and peeled off his wet, sweaty shirt. “Time to fly, Ella,” he said. She couldn’t make out his words; she was already too far gone.

He tied more rope to her ankles, her arms, and, to Ella’s dismay, the ring of the anal hook. Ella wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing anymore; she was in a sort of vacant haze where rational thought couldn’t exist. But she could feel it when the ball buried deep in her ass shifted and pulled.

And then, her whole body was being pulled up, and up, until Ella was off the ground and floating in the air. Her arms and legs were still tied behind her, and her head was still held back by the anal hook…but Ella was free of the world.

Her mind took that last plunge, and she went flying, soaring, rocketing into a soft cloud of oblivion.

She could see Mr. Cox’s face beneath her. She could feel his hands on her dangling breasts, his hard nails digging into her tender skin. He spun her in the air, and Ella went dizzy, weightless as a feather drifting on the wind. He bit her inner thigh, and the pain broke through her trance, just enough to make her cry out. He bit her other leg, and she cried out again.

Then he was an inch away from her face, looking into her eyes, and giving her a second to really see him before he was kissing her hard across the mouth.

Ella felt his soft lips on hers, the brutal attack of his mouth…and she kissed him back, feeling the current running between them, the energy looping their two bodies in one endless circle of synergy. When he pulled his lips away, Ella felt a sudden sense of loss, like he had ripped a piece of her soul away. Fresh tears dripped from her eyes.

With a push of his hand on her shoulder, he spun her again, and Ella felt nothing but wild euphoria, a weightless exhilaration that intoxicated her senses.

There were a few moments of confusion when she felt her body touch the mat again. Mr. Cox had lowered her down slowly, careful to let each one of her limbs make contact with the floor before she came to a complete rest.

She felt disconcerted, helpless, and shaken by the weight of her own body.

Mr. Cox began to untie her quickly, freeing her of the rope with deft fingers. He made her stretch her limbs as he freed them, manipulating her body across the mat like a rag doll.

Ella let him move her as he wanted, her mind barren of any cognition. She was lost, bewildered by the strange body that was her still own, yet now felt foreign and strange. She was an alien in her own skin.

Mr. Cox pushed her chest down on the mat and knelt between her spread knees behind her. Ella lay with her arms stretched in front of her in a position of supplication, her head turned to the side. Her body was free of the rope; only the anal hook remained.

Mr. Cox began to pull the ball out of her ass.

Ella shrieked, and tried to pull away; Mr. Cox pressed her down with a firm hand on her back, and continued to steadily pull the ball out of her ass. Ella yelled and panted, clenching her hands into tight fists. She screamed as the ball stretched her thin tissues to the breaking point; then she let out her breath in one long blow as the ball popped free, releasing her muscles to clamp shut.

Mr. Cox rubbed her back now, giving her a few seconds to recover. But as soon as her breathing had evened out, he stood up, grabbed her hands, and began to tie them together over her head.

Ella could only get one word out: “What…?”

“We’re not done yet, princess. Not by a long shot. You flew…now you’ll burn.”

Ella’s face cringed. Mr. Cox stretched her arms up and used one of the lengths of rope to tie them to the ring above her. She was still on her knees, but her wrists were tied tight, her arms locked straight above her head. Ella rested her head on her arm, swaying a little in the rope, wondering with a vague sense of fear what lay in store for her next.

She heard a scrape, a spark being lit…and then a tiny point of white-hot fire pressed into her back.

Ella screamed so loud, the sound ricocheted off the walls.

It felt like lava was being dripped onto her skin. Ella tried to jerk away, screaming every time another drop of agony seared a small circle onto her quivering flesh. But the pain kept coming, yanking Ella out of her subspace and into a realm of terrifying anguish.

Mr. Cox crawled on his knees to her front. As he faced her, he sat back on his heels, looking vibrant. In his hand he held a long white candle, the font of Ella’s torture.

He waited for Ella’s eyes to focus on the candle and fill with horror.

“Please, Sir, please, Sir, PLEASE, SIR—”

Mr. Cox held the flame of the candle right above the sloping summit of Ella’s left breast. As he tipped the candle, tiny beads of wax fell right onto the fat crinkly nipple.

Ella screamed until she had no voice left. The heat scorched into her nipple, melting blazing agony into her flesh.

As soon as Ella was done screaming over her left nipple, Mr. Cox did her right, and Ella began to scream all over again. Her vision went blurry as her eyes flooded with tears, but she could still make out Mr. Cox mere inches away from her shaking body. Even if she could not have seen him, she still would have known he was there.

Despite the pain—or maybe because of it—the current of energy running between them was still pumping fast and hard.

Mr. Cox fell into a pattern now: he would tip the candle over one of her breasts, listen to her scream, watch her struggle with the pain, and let her regain her breathing. Meanwhile, the candle would burn down some, and another small pool of wax would form around the wick. As soon as he felt like she had calmed down enough and he had enough liquid wax at his disposal, Mr. Cox would tip the candle again, this time on her other breast.

He watched in rapt attention as Ella screamed and flailed.

He took his time, working methodically, coating the upper parts of her breasts in soft wax, letting the scalding drops of liquid fire dribble down her heaving tits. Within moments, the wax would cool, dry, and harden. It created white creamy tears down her flaring, throbbing flesh.

Now Mr. Cox gripped her by the shoulder and held the candle still, letting the flame dance and lick below her quaking breast. Ella screamed and writhed, her face a mask of pain and terror, but Mr. Cox dug his fingers into her shoulder, seizing her tight, and moved the candle under her other breast.

Ella was sobbing now, existing only in her pain.

Her sobs turned into those of relief when Mr. Cox stood up and blew the candle out. But she continued to cry, overwhelmed by everything he had just put her through.

He still wasn’t done yet.

“I told you you would burn, my little clit-toy,” he whispered. “And you will…inside and out.”

As he walked to the heavy wardrobe and disappeared behind the wide door, Ella leaned her face against her arm and let her tears fall, feeling utterly spent.

Mr. Cox came back holding a bottle filled with thick reddish liquid. Ella had no idea what it could be, but dread filled her heart.

Mr. Cox sat the bottle on the edge of the mat and began to untie the rope fastening her arms to the rings above. As soon as they were free, he loosened the rope tying her wrists together in front of her, so that Ella could put her arms to her sides. But her freedom did not last long, as Mr. Cox grabbed her wrists and tied them once more, this time behind her back.

With her arms now locked behind her, Ella was off balance. Mr. Cox pushed her face down into the mat.

“Face down, ass up,” he said. Ella could hear him grabbing the bottle.

“Please, Sir, please,” Ella begged, her voice barely above a whisper. Begging was instinctive now; she knew it would do no good, but she couldn’t seem to stop.

She could tell Mr. Cox had squeezed some of the liquid onto his hand. With a steadying hand pressed firmly in the middle of her back, he rubbed his slick fingers between her pussy lips, digging into her flesh, coating her cunt lips and clit with the gummy lube.

Then he crawled on his knees to her front, to wait…and watch.

It only took a moment for the fiery lube to work. The slimy thick sap coating her cunt began to sear and burn into her most fragile, tender skin. Ella yanked her head up and fought the rope tying her hands behind her, trying to free herself, but her efforts were futile.

Mr. Cox watched her flop around the mat, crying, shaking, scissoring her legs and yanking her arms inside the rope. Finally, when all the strength had left her body, Ella was reduced to a ball of wretchedness, pressing her head into the mat and keening pathetically.

Only then did Mr. Cox remove the rest of his clothes.

He stepped up behind her, situated himself between thighs, spread open her ass, aimed his cock against her asshole, and pressed.

Ella was still sufficiently lubricated from the anal ball that his whole helmeted head slid into her with one push. With her arms tied behind her back, Ella couldn’t brace herself, or control the force of his thrust; all she could do was feel his thick cock inexorably push into her hot rear channel.

She howled and shook with fury as Mr. Cox pressed his whole length deep into her ass. Her cunt burned, her clit throbbed, and her asshole strained against this new assault.

Mr. Cox began a slow, steady fucking of her asshole.

Ella couldn’t help tightening her muscles around him. The burn from her pussy was still wreaking havoc with her senses, and making her whole body tense up in response. But his slow pumping became a welcome relief from the roasting heat still raging inside her cunt; it spurred her on, helping turn her fiery pain into surging pleasure.

Ella lifted her ass a little more, pushing back against him, trying to bury him deeper with each thrust.

“My little clit-toy is enjoying her ass reaming,” Mr. Cox said from behind her. “Would my clit-toy like to come?”

Ella didn’t answer right away. She was too lost in the heady sensations. His rigid prick felt like it was splitting her open with each slap of his thighs against her already sore ass. He grinded his cock against her tender tissues, bearing down into her straining sphincter, stretching her open like he was trying to tear her apart. Her cunt throbbed in rhythm with the blood pounding in her head.

Mr. Cox’s hand come around and rubbed her swollen clit, and Ella almost shrieked from the staggering surge of pleasure and pain.

“I said,” he growled as he rubbed, “would my clit-toy like to come?”

“Oh god!” Ella spread her legs and lifted her ass as much as she could. Her shoulders and cheek pressed hard into the mat. “Yes, Sir, your clit-toy would like to come!”

“Then come, clit-toy,” he said, pumping harder. “Come for me.”

“THANK YOU SIR!”

Ella screamed as she came, engulfed by blinding white light. She heard more screaming, and realized it was still coming from her, but she had no way to stop it. She had lost all control of her body.

Mr. Cox continued to pound his solid cock into her hot rear channel, relishing the way her raw tissues squeezed and milked his entire length. He held back his own release for as long as he could, feeling every spasm of Ella’s multiple orgasms roil her wracked body and pulse around his cock. Every time she would come down from another orgasm, he would spread her cheeks wider and thrust harder, and feel the exquisite thrills of her coming again.

Only when Ella was fully depleted, a sobbing, limp heap before him, did he let go of his own release and plow in his cock up to the balls, shooting his come right up her back passage.

She fell prone on her stomach as soon as he slid out of her. Splayed over the mat, breathing hard, with welts, bruises, and wax covering her body under a thin layer of sweat, Ella was a beautiful wreck.

Mr. Cox freed her hands and gathered her up in his arms. He smoothed the hair away from her face and rocked her in his lap, holding her tight.

He was expecting some sort of outburst or torrent of tears. She had just been through a grueling suspension scene; her crash from subspace back to earth was bound to be traumatic.

He was shocked when she smiled at him instead.

“That was pretty kinky, wasn’t it?” She whispered, her blue eyes gazing at him in soft repose.

Mr. Cox’s own eyes lit with wonder. “Yes,” replied. “Yes, it was.”