She immediately gagged, choking and coughing, her jaw flexing to try to expel the intruder. Then a loud crack rent the air and pain, sharp and sweet, exploded in her breast.

He’d slapped her, and fresh shock mingled with the pain as she continued to gag and gasp.

“Teeth, darling,” he reminded her in a sing-song voice, and slapped her again, her breast bouncing under the blow. She struggled to open her jaw wider, tears streaming into her hair.

“There we go.” He pulled back slightly, giving her a moment to pull in a ragged breath before shoving back in again. It was slightly easier this time, but she still gagged, spit flowing from her mouth in an embarrassing flood.

“Hitting you seems to make you work harder,” he observed, a cackling sort of amusement in his tone. He slapped her other breast this time, the one he’d cut, and the pain was so intense she cried out. But his cock was lodged in her throat, so all that came out was a watery gurgle, her throat working around him, and he groaned.

“Fuck yah, more of that,” he said, and slapped her again. He set up a rhythm—thrust in, slap a breast so her throat worked around the sensitive head of his cock, pull out, and repeat. Over and over, until tears and spit were running down her face and pain was a constant companion. Her chest throbbed lightly where he’d cut her, and she wondered vaguely if she was still bleeding. Her neck hurt from being held in the hard arch, her scalp sang from his fist in her hair. Her bound hands were pinned painfully under her, and her back ached from the uncomfortable angle.

Her body was a symphony of pain, and somehow the worst hurt of all was the deep, empty ache in her pussy. She was wet and throbbing, every nerve ending lit up and begging. If she’d been alone, her hand would’ve been tucked between her thighs, working the slick, needy flesh to orgasm. With her hands tied, the only thing she could do was rub her thighs together to get the friction she needed, but she didn’t dare, lest he notice her arousal.

There was no way he wouldn’t. She’d shaved in the bath, making sure the plump mound and soft lips were free of every last strand of hair. There was nothing to shield her, nothing to keep the evidence of her arousal from view. Her pussy would gleam wet in the moonlight, her thighs would be slick with it.

He would notice, then she’d be in real trouble.