Page 18 of Cry, Little Dove

“I’ve already had your pussy last night, but I can’t resist…” Cain muses and sinks into me, claiming my second hole. He doesn’t thrust, just pushes as deep as he can.

My cunt flutters from the stinging stretch of his cock and the pressure of the plug in my ass. God, I had no idea it’s possible to feel this deliciously full.

“Patience, little dove. You’re already squeezing me so tightly. Are you close? Did you get this hot from me fucking your throat?” he asks.

My tears flow faster because it’s true. I’m teetering on the brink of an orgasm from being treated like a free-use slut.

Cain pumps his dick in and out so slowly, it’s driving me crazy. His hands draw along my thighs in long strokes and my skin pebbles wherever he touches. I don’t know how long he takes me like that, deliberately keeping me perched just beneath the peak of my lust.

“Now for hole number three,” he says and retreats. I hate that I miss his cock the moment it leaves my cunt, but it allows me a second to breathe—until he pulls the plug from my ass.

It slides out easier than it went in, but I know what comes next. Compared to his dick, that plug is a cakewalk. Cain squirts a generous amount of lube onto his cock, covering himself in it while he fucks his fist. Somehow, I bet it’s not going to help much with the stretch.

My heart catapults into my throat when he presses his tip against my rim.

“Take deep, even breaths and try to loosen up. It’ll hurt less that way,” Cain says and jerks his hips forward.

His eyes glaze over as he penetrates my ass with a sharp thrust. The burning ache makes my breath stick to my throat. He’s barely inside, but I’m already at my limit and he doesn’t give a shit. My possessive kidnapper only cares about making good on his promise to claim all my holes for himself.

“Don’t fight me, darlin’,” he grits out, his thick length forcing its way past the resistance of my tense muscles. I think I’m going to tear, but the ache subsides when he starts to thrust. My eyes roll back as my body adjusts to his size and arousal flows like magma through my veins.

“I love that I’m the first man to fuck your ass. You’re clenching down on me so hard, I know you like it, too,” Cain says, grinning. “Now it’s time for my favorite toy…” He picks up the thin rod from the tray again. “Do you know what this is?” He waits until I make a horrible, gargled noise. With an amused snort, he takes the bottle of lube and coats the instrument in it. “I thought not. It’s a sounding rod.”

My eyes must reflect my confusion.

“It goes inside your urethra. It’s a separate hole from your vagina where the pee comes out,” he explains matter-of-factly and brings the rod to my center.

Oh nonononononono—

A slight, stretching discomfort permeates my lower belly. Light pain makes fire lick at my insides before full body pleasure shudders along the pathways of my nerves. Colors flicker in front of my eyes as Cain pushes the rod deeper and gently pulls it out again. In and out. In and out.

It’s incredible how sinfully good this feels.

There’s nothing to compare the sensation with, like my g-spot and my clit are getting directly stimulated from inside me even though he’s not even in my pussy. It’s unlike anything I ever experienced before.

“That’s hole number four,” Cain chokes out, his face flushed and his cock jerking violently inside my ass.

I’m not the only one close to the finish line.

He takes up careful, measured movements, his cock and the sounding rod moving in unison. The slower he’s fucking me, the more I feel every steely inch of him. Then his other hand tugs on the chain connecting my nipples, and I can’t take it anymore.

Screams of ecstasy trapped in my chest, pleasure rips through me with such viciousness I think my heart is bursting. Cain grunts, but he only makes it another few seconds, too.

He holds on to my thighs, his grip bruising. A plethora of curses falls from his lips as he empties his release into me, but I still can’t stop coming. My vision dims, my hearing dulls, and my consciousness fades with one last thought:

I’m going to die because I came on my kidnapper’s cock.

I never keep my victims alive.

I never get attached to my victims.

On my operating table, they’re not human, they’re not men and women. Just meat bags. That’s exactly what they drilled into us in medical school. Cold, clinical detachment. When I’m done with ‘em, I get rid of the carcass in a medical incinerator I snatched during renovations in one of my clinics.

No victim ever leaves my basement, either. It’s my soundproof safe room, far away from the prying eyes of unwanted guests dropping by.

But there she is, sleeping in my bed.

Erica.

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