Page 42 of Ruthlessly Mated
He pushes straight inside me, using Conroy’s cum as lubricant, and I moan as I am filled all the way up. It feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right. In this cozy little kitchen in the middle of a hostile city, surrounded by my mates, I am being taken to task, and though I’d never admit it, not even under torture by Alexander himself, I am loving absolutely every moment of it.
I am soaking wet and I am sore, and for some reason the sorer I get, the better it feels and the wetter I get.
“You’re not going to be running off on your own,” he lectures, spanking my ass hard. “I’ve given my best efforts in trying to stay on your side, but you insist on making it absolutely impossible to argue for you.”
I don’t know how he sounds so steady while he’s fucking me. I can barely form a thought, let alone a word, but he is flexing his hips and arching his cock deep inside me over and over again, filling my pussy in what feels like a different way every time.
“You’re going to behave. You’re going to learn what it means to be our mate. You’re going to do as you’re told. And you’re going to treat us as though we matter, because we do.”
“I saved your stupid life,” I grunt, managing to put a fragment of a sentence together after all.
“Yes. You did. And this is how I am going to reward you.”
He pulls out of my pussy, slides his hand up between my thighs, and swipes his fingers hard across my tender lips in a sharp slap.
“Ow!” I gasp, jumping in place, making a sound of shock as well as pain. Of all the things I expected him to do, that’s the least of it.
Damon is there in a heartbeat, holding me down by the arms, keeping me in place for this terrible punishment. I give him a betrayed look, but he just smirks and winks at me, as if this is something he’s doing for me, a favor. His grip is firm rather than rough, but there’s no escaping it.
“Ow!” I continue to gasp as Tailor, the gentle, refined, kind mate I imagined might be on my side, spanks my pussy as if she owes him money, slapping my already well-fucked lower lips over and over until I am wailing and whimpering, feeling actually punished instead of just mated.
“Yes,” he says. “Ow. You deserve some pain. You’ve behaved badly, and not just in the way you were behaving badly before we met. Now you’re starting to behave badly in a way that includes us, affects us, gets us hurt. You came back after the vampire attacked, and that was to your credit, but barely. You only get so much approval for not leaving us to die.”
He spanks my pussy again, and again, until guilt and sex become so inextricably intertwined I can’t help but respond with tears of near orgasmic shame.
“You should have told us what was in the truck. We’re entitled to know what we’re tangled up in. From now on, you’ll be honest about everything, or you will pay for it with this sweet little ass and cunt. Understand?”
I make a noise that might be agreement, or just a whimper of sodden pain, and he slides his cock back inside me, my aching pussy reacting with another flood of arousal. I shouldn’t like this. I should hate every moment of it. I should be crying. I think I am crying. But I am also getting ever closer to orgasm.
He ruts and knots me to his own climax within a few dozen strokes, fucking me like it’s almost business he’s conducting with a naughty mate who just needs her pussy bred. I feel waves of alternating shame and humiliation washing through me.
He rubs my back as I squirm on his knot, doing nothing to give me an orgasm, but making sure his cock stays deep inside me, and his seed as well. Damon’s hands slide from my wrists, one of them pats my cheek gently before he gets up and goes back to the dishes. Conroy has not moved throughout these proceedings, watching me be pussy spanked and bred with an expression I can only describe as satisfied.
I don’t get to come, and I don’t get to feel better either. As Tailor slides out of me, I feel a rush of hot seed sliding out of my ravaged pussy, and an internal ache that I know will last for hours, if not days.
Conroy’s punishments always make me feel sore, but satisfied. Tailor has made sure I don’t get relief or release. He’s left me feeling every bit of the punishment, and the guilt that comes from realizing I probably did actually deserve it. It sucks to be wrong.
“Come here,” Tailor says, his tone gentler as he helps me up. I try to hide my face from him, but he won’t let me. He turns me toward him, angling my face with two fingers on my chin.
“Stop it,” I mumble.
“I won’t stop it,” he says firmly. “Look at me and tell me how you’re feeling. I want to know what you’re thinking too.”
I don’t want to say. It’s all so awful and so muddled and I am feeling very sore and very sorry for myself.
I squirm away from him, but he pulls me gently back.
“Tell me,” he says firmly.
He won’t let me get away. Won’t let me evade. And I’d usually become very terrible at a time like this, act out and fuck something up, but I’m too sore to do that.
“Kita. Talk to me,” he says. “Come on.”
I start crying again. Harder than before, and without any of the pleasure of being fucked at the same time. I hate this. I want to be strong. I want to be untouchable. I’d rather drive that truck through a thousand enemies than face my own mate right now.
“Shhh,” he says, soothing me with a snug hug.
“You should get a different mate,” I sob. “I’m not good. I do bad things all the time. I only do bad things. Exclusively terrible stuff.”
