Upward Ambition Ch. 04

(Author's note: you'll probably want to read previous installments in this series if you haven't already. And if you don't like non-consent in your erotica, then this is not the story for you. Remember that what follows is just a fantasy. In real life, consent is key.)

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I return to consciousness in slow degrees. I'm facedown on something soft, and for a while I think I must be in my bedroom having a bout of sleep paralysis, because I can't move my arms or legs. It takes me a while to register that I can move my fingers, though there's something biting into my wrists. I crane my neck and creak open one eyelid. As the bright, bleary world comes into focus, I see that there's a black leather cuff on my wrist. It's attached to a strap, and that strap is attached to...a bedpost?

My brain kicks into gear, and I struggle with more fervor. The leather rubs and burns against my skin, but doesn't give. I strain to look over my shoulder and find that my ankles are bound the same way as my wrists. I'm on my stomach, spread-eagled on a huge four poster bed, and I'm completely naked.

Fuck, this can't be happening to me. That sick, twisted motherfucker. I yank again at my restraints, but he hasn't been remiss in his work, and I have a feeling I'll wrench my limbs out of joint before I even get close to wriggling free.

I go limp, sucking in panicked breaths. The air is crisp and cool on my bare, sweaty skin, which makes me feel even more exposed. Not only that, but my asshole feels strange. Empty but raw. Did that psychopath give me an enema?

No, Derek would never have stooped so low. He would have gotten his butler to do it. A manic laugh threatens to erupt in my throat at the thought, but I manage to compose myself. I guess I should be grateful there's not something shoved in there, even though I know better than to think that will be the case for long. He probably just wants me to be awake for it.

"I did warn you that there would be a price to pay for your disobedience." Derek's voice settles over me, and I shiver. I hear his soft footsteps on the rug, and then his hand strokes the back of my head and moves down to rest between my shoulder blades. "First you blow me off for a date—"

"It wasn't a—"

"And then you let Kevin lay his filthy paws on you." He traces a finger down my spine, and I arch my back slightly at the sensation.

"You said if I told the truth—"

"I said it would go easier for you." His finger skims along the curve of my left butt cheek, and then he gives me a vicious pinch. I yelp and try to pull away, but of course there's nowhere to go. I bury my face in the mattress instead. "Strapping you to a bed is much more comfortable than my desk, I think. I won't even make you count. You should thank me for that."

"Thanks," I mumble into the bedspread.

"What was that?" He slaps my ass sharply. I jerk my head up with a yip.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Before we get started, I have something new for that hungry cunt of yours."

I try not to react as the bed dips with his weight and he settles himself between my spread legs. He squirts lube directly onto my pucker, and I cringe at the coldness. He slides two fingers in easily and scissors them while I bite my lip and bury my face again, trying to stay still. He very purposefully does not go anywhere near my prostate.

Despite the preparation, the cold metal ball he pops into my anus draws a strangled cry from me. I wriggle my ass, trying in vain to shift it into a more comfortable position. The ball is at least the size of a ping-pong ball and it's heavy. Derek lets me squirm for a while, and then he shoves his thumb into me, pressing against the ball while I shudder and jolt against my restraints.

"If any of these fall out," he says, "your punishment will be doubled."

Oh god, why is he using the plural?

Sure enough, he removes his thumb and in the next second another ball pops into my hole. I strain uselessly, trying close my legs against the intrusion. I swear I can hear the balls clinking while they move inside me. I'm just catching my breath when he pushes another one in. I press my face into the mattress, trying to muffle my groans.

"Is your little boy pussy full yet?" he asks, patting my rump. I let out a cross between a whimper and a moan. "No? I didn't think so."

The fourth ball makes me feel as if I'm a turkey stuffed for roasting. I'm positive that there's no space left, but somehow he forces a fifth into me. I'm so full I think I'm going to burst. He squeezes my cheeks together, a silent reminder that I'm not allowed to expel the intruders, then he slides off the bed.

I'm already drenched in sweat, and every muscle in my body is aching—my ass most of all. I try to tell myself that this will be over soon, but I'm not very convincing. Something new trails down my back. Something cool and smooth. I'm saved having to guess what it is when Derek uses it to smack me lightly on the side of my face. A leather riding crop.

"Please," I whimper, tugging as hard as I can against my wrist restraints.

"Please, what, Jack?" he asks, as he teases the leather loop across my forehead, down my nose, over my lips. He's shirtless, I realize, for the first time. His physique is as impressive as his outline would suggest. His taut chest is smooth with only a dusting of dark hair. Each of his abs is sharply defined, and with his trousers resting low on his waist, his lean muscles and pelvis bones create a triangle pointing toward the one part of him that I am intimately familiar with.

"Please don't. I'll do anything you want."

He leans in close, and I'm enveloped by the familiar, intoxicating scent of him as he presses a tender kiss right at the corner of my mouth.

"I know you will," he murmurs against my cheek.

The first blow lands across my ass, and I jerk at the impact. Though the sting is more concentrated than with the belt, it hurts about the same. Maybe it won't be so bad after all.

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

The strokes come hard and fast, landing unpredictably across my exposed flesh, from calves to shoulders. I suck in short breaths and try to weather it with my dignity intact, but my body convulses of its own accord with every bright lash of pain, and soon he's ripping cries from me with every blow. It doesn't help that I'm stuffed full of those damn metal balls, which shift and roll inside me with every twitch.

I had thought not having to count would be a blessing but turns out not knowing the number we're on—or when it's going to stop—is so much worse. We could be on the twentieth stroke or the hundredth. I have no idea. And I have no idea when he's going to be done.

At long last, he seems to be winding down. The blows are coming at uneven intervals, and sometimes he'll stop to tease the leather loop against my skin, toying with the welts he's raised. I try to block out the pain, concentrating on my shuddering breaths. My loss of focus turns out to be a mistake, because no sooner have I begun to relax, then I feel metal stretching my asshole from the inside. I panic and clench my hole, but it's too late. The slick ball pops out of me.

Derek pauses his torment and clicks his tongue in disappointment.

"I'm sorry," I wheeze out through tears. "I'm sorry—I tried."

Derek's only reply is to cram the ball back into me and start his thrashing anew. My whole world contracts into the thwap thwap thwap of the crop as it raises fire on my skin and the tenderness in my stuffed, swollen ass as I try to keep my hole clenched tight.

By the time the last blow falls, the bedspread beneath me is drenched with sweat, snot, and tears. I know I must have bruises on my wrists and ankles from struggling so hard and getting nowhere. I sob quietly into the mattress. I'm utterly broken, and I know he's not anywhere close to done with me yet. I also know now that disobeying him was not worth it in the least.

"Do you have something to say to me?" he asks from the foot of the bed.

It takes me a few seconds to gather my disparate thoughts enough to figure out what he means.

"Thank you for punishing me, sir." My voice cracks with the words, but I manage to get them all out.

He does not tell me I'm a good boy, but he does slip a finger into my hole to scoop out one of the balls. They all pop out in succession, and I realize they must have been attached together by a string or something. I release a long breath of relief when the last one slides free.

I hope that he'll untie me now, but instead he lifts me at the waist and shoves a pillow under my hips. Now I'm not only spread wide, but my ass is angled in the air. The perfect height for fucking. A part of me knew this was coming, but I still can't quite wrap my head around it. I've been sucking on his massive dick every day for a month now, and I've spent most of that time with a plug shoved up my hole. But the thought of his cock splitting me open—it's too much to bear.

I hear him finish undressing, but I don't look. The bed dips again with his weight, and his hands, chilly on my skin, begin to stroke and knead my sore butt cheeks. I moan and squirm, but there's no escaping him. His bare knees are pressed against the insides of my thighs. It's a shocking, strange kind of intimacy.

"I must admit," he says in silken tones, as he massages my battered skin. "I'm glad you made me punish you like this. I want your ass nice and hot when I take you."

He spanks me a few times with his open hand, until my cheeks are red-hot enough to satisfy him. Then he pries me open. I feel cool air on my pucker. I hear the squelch of lube. I tell myself to stay calm, to breathe, to relax.

Despite my best efforts, the moment the head of his penis presses against my hole, I start to panic. It's too big. It's so much bigger than his fingers, the plug, the dildo, the balls—anything else he's ever shoved in there. I whimper and writhe and pull against the cuffs on my wrists with all my strength, as if by sheer willpower alone I might be able to crawl out from under him and save myself.

He doesn't seem to mind. I'm sure he probably likes it, hearing me cry and beg as he begins his slow violation of my most private space. Once the head is in, I'm certain that he's going to literally rip me in half. He snaps his hips, forcing another inch or two inside me, and I scream. His weight bears down on me as he leans forward. There's a pleased hum in the base of his throat as he presses his tongue against the exposed half of my face, licking away the salty tears he finds there. I shudder at the sensation. He invades me another couple inches. This time when I scream, he captures my mouth with his, devouring my cries.

He sucks on my mouth, raping me with his tongue while his cock rapes my ass. He rocks his hips, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in again, each time a little bit further. I know I should be grateful he didn't just shove his entire length into me at once, but I'm too overwhelmed to consider anything but the pain shooting through every muscle and sinew.

He draws my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down—hard—wrenching another cry from me right as he buries himself all the way to the hilt. His huge balls slap against my tender skin. I can hardly believe he's managed to fit—and that I've managed to stay conscious this long.

He laps away more of my tears. His warm breath smells of smoky scotch as he pants against my cheek. He rocks backward and then slams into me again, so hard that my head almost hits the headboard. I groan and beg him mindlessly to stop, but he quiets me by shoving three fingers into my mouth. I sputter and gag, and then, defeated, begin to suckle his fingers with my lips and tongue like I know he expects.

He pumps into me with increased vigor, adjusting his angle until he's slamming into my prostate each time. Sparks of fiery pleasure erupt inside me, and I moan around his hand. Blood rushes to my own cock.

"You belong to me, Jack Spencer," he says into my ear, snapping his hips with each word. "No one else. Not Penny from accounting. Not Kevin fucking Grant. You're mine."

I wail wordlessly in response as he spurs me higher and higher into a state of utter delirium, where pain and pleasure are so intermingled, I can't tell one from the other. He pummels me over and over, gasping and grunting into my ear, reminding me that I'm his filthy whore, his perfect little cockslut. As his pace grows more frenzied, he yanks his fingers from my mouth and wraps them instead around my throat. My breath seizes in my lungs, but I'm helpless to do anything but lie there and choke as he drives the memory of his domination so deep into my marrow that I know I'll never be able to forget it.

His rhythm grows quicker and quicker, and then he's shooting his load deep inside me, laying claim to my body once and for all.

I don't know if I pass out. It seems impossible that I could have fallen asleep, unless whatever drugs he gave me are still in my system. At any rate, when I come back to myself and open my eyes, Derek is no longer on top of me. I crane my neck, but the bedroom—which is too small to be the master, and too generic and impersonal to be anything but a guest room—appears empty.

He hasn't untied me yet. My joints and muscles ache steadily, and that's to say nothing of all the tender welts decorating my flesh. I can feel the sticky evidence of his cum still drying inside me and dribbling down my crack, so I know I wasn't out very long. My cock is still hard and aching underneath me.

I squirm and hump ineffectually against the pillow, desperate for a little relief.

"Don't make me have to punish you again."

At Derek's voice, I startle and then go still.

"Please, may I come?" I ask, straining my neck to look at him. He's put back on his trousers though he's still shirtless, and he's carrying—of all things—a stack of folders.

"No," he says flatly. He drops the folders on the bed and then climbs up to sit next to me, his hip against my bicep, his leg stretched along the length of my torso.

"What are you doing?"

"Work," he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He actually spreads some papers out over my back. He jabs a pen into my side. "Stop fidgeting."

What the hell.

"Can you at least untie me?" I demand.

"No, and if you make one more sound, I'm going to strap a dildo in your mouth to shut you up."

I close my mouth immediately. Sociopathic bastard. I turn my face away so I don't have to look at him. I doubt he even notices. Thanks to the chiming of a clock somewhere in the room, I'm able to at least keep track of the time. He works for a full hour, reading, scribbling notes, sorting through pages. Through it all, I can do nothing but lie there, naked and exposed, while he uses me as a glorified lap desk.

I've swallowed his cum more times than I can count, but I still think this is the most humiliating thing he's ever put me through.

Finally he reaches a stopping point and gathers up the folders into a neat stack. He disappears for a little while, and when he returns, he goes to the foot of the bed and unhooks my ankles from the leather straps, though he leaves the cuffs on them. I pull my legs closed, alleviating the burn in my thighs from being spread for so long. Derek climbs back on the bed and straddles my back. Despite my soreness from the whipping, I sigh in relief. He's unhooking my wrists. My shoulder muscles ache in protest as I pull my arms to my chest. It feels so good I might cry.

Derek raises up on his knees, and I think he's going to let me up, but instead he just grabs my shoulder and forces me to roll onto my back. He settles down, his clothed crotch resting on my belly. He is a dark silhouette against the bedroom light as I stare up at him. One thing I can make out clearly is the gleam in his eyes. He leans down suddenly and kisses me on the mouth. I'm too shocked at first to do anything, but then I'm kissing him back, our tongues moving together. He kisses the same way he does everything else in his life, with complete confidence and control. His dark stubble tickles my chin, and his knees press into my sides. Despite everything he's done to me tonight, I can feel my cock begin to strain with new need.

I'm so lost in the taste of him that I don't even notice what his hands are doing until my left wrist has been strapped again to the bedpost. I break away from his mouth, tugging uselessly with my arm.

"Wait," I say, but he's already captured my right wrist. I struggle, but not only is he stronger than me, he has my body pinned. Well, fuck.

"I never gave you permission to speak," he reminds me, patting my cheek. He climbs off me.

I expect him to tie me down spread-eagle again, but instead he grabs the cuff on my right leg and pulls it all the way up to attach to the same strap holding my right wrist. Then he does the same on my left side, so that I'm bent in half with my legs wide and my ass up in the air. I have an excellent view of my own hard cock and balls.

Derek crawls back onto the bed, and I realize I'm also going to have an excellent view of him raping my hole. My chest heaves, and I wriggle ineffectually against my bonds. I can't believe he's going to do this to me again. I'm still excruciatingly sore from the first time.

"If you beg me to fuck you, I might let you come tonight," he tells me, as he traces a light finger over my ball sac. He undoes the button and fly on his trousers.

As much as my dick likes that idea, my brain is not so willing.

"Please, no," I say, my voice tight with unshed tears. "It hurts so bad. Please."

In response he leans forward and licks a stripe up the underside of my shaft. Oh god. A violent tremor runs through me as he goes lower, flicking his tongue across the incredibly sensitive skin between my penis and scrotum. During the countless sessions on my knees with my face in his crotch, it never once occurred to me to wonder what it might feel like in the opposite position, which is just as well because—fuck—it feels better than I could possibly have imagined.

He lifts his face and swirls his tongue lazily over the head. I'm leaking pre-cum and shuddering with desire. All thoughts of my sore ass vanish completely from my mind.

"Please fuck me," I manage.

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"I think you can do better than that." He gives my shaft another long lick, and I spasm from head to toe with the sheer ecstasy of it.

"Please, I'm begging you, Mr. Harrow. Please fuck me."

It still must not be good enough, because he ignores me and takes the head into his mouth to suck. I howl like I'm in pain, jerking at my restraints, desperate for release and fighting with every ounce of my willpower to hold back. After all I've suffered tonight, I don't think I would survive whatever punishment there would be for coming without his permission. Especially into his mouth.

"Please, please—oh god—please, I'll do anything. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Please."

He still looks unmoved. Without preamble, he goes all the way down to the root, swallowing me down with no hint of a gag reflex. I know my size is nothing extraordinary, but still, his capacity is impressive. It's also wildly arousing to see those cruel, clever lips wrapped around my cock, to see the spark in those hard eyes as he steadily keeps my gaze. Even with my dick down his throat, he's still obviously, undeniably, the one in charge.

My hold on my orgasm is rapidly deteriorating. Tears are running down my face as I beg and plead, and I'm barely making any sense anymore. Finally, I have a tiny flash of inspiration, and I marshal myself for one last attempt before I lose all control.

"Please, Mr. Harrow," I gasp, "please stick your huge cock in me and rape my little boy pussy."