Page 45 of Punishing Penelope

I can’t do this.

After five forced orgasms, each weaker than the last, I know I’ll do whatever he asks of me. I give up.

My pussy becomes mercifully numb, and even though it’s still pure torture, the feel of it changes. There is no sixth as my body seems to more or less shut down.

Stopping, Peter turns off the vibrator, undoes the gag, and pulls it out.

I open and close my mouth to get my aching jaw to work again and form words.

He wipes my temples with his thumbs as he studies me.

“You’re a stubborn girl, aren’t you?”

A sob climbs up my throat, and I can’t answer. I can’t take it anymore. I need a fucking hug. I need a blanket and to be held, and even though he’s the cause of all this agony, I need his arms around me. Because it’s him. He’s my guy. He always was. He may have tormented me for hours, but parts of it were hot as fuck, and I... I could do this again. Some other time that isn’t now. Something has irrevocably changed between us. We’ve shared so much back then and again now. I’ve never been so vulnerable with another human being. And yeah, I want his tenderness. I need it.

It’s as if he senses it. Or maybe he wants it as well?

I know we’re done for the night. He won’t keep going. I feel it in the thickening air between us—two stubborn wills colliding. I don’t know who won. I can’t think and don’t know what will come out of my mouth when I’m able to speak.

Untied, freed of the cuffs, the straps, the choker, I still can’t move. He collects my boneless limbs, then scoops me up in his massive arms and carries me out of the bedroom to the living room. Placing me on the couch with the utmost care, he wraps a blanket around me.

He doesn't speak. Neither do I.

I follow his moves as he walks over to the fireplace. Putting crumpled paper inside, he adds a few new logs to the old, charred wood and lights a fire. He leaves the room and is gone a few minutes before he comes back with a cup on a tray and places it before me. The scent of Earl Grey competes with the outdoorsy smell of burning wood.

He sits beside me and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. He’s still only wearing his briefs, and there are little pebbles of goosebumps on his arms. I lean my head on his shoulder. My body sizzles, my heart still beats furiously, but I feel oddly secure and lazily satisfied.

The room warms up quickly. The dry, comfortable heat from the fire soothes the turmoil inside. Peter reaches for the cup and holds it up.

“One lump of sugar.”

Inside, I smile. That’s how I used to drink it, but I stopped with sugar years ago. I obediently open my mouth and let him put the cup to my lips.

The sweet taste is a comforting reminder of past times, lighter days before life turned dark and unbearable. It’s exactly what I need.

“Good girl.” He puts the cup back down. “You’re really stubborn, you know that?”

I nod.

“I love it.” He puts his nose to my neck and inhales deeply as if he smells me. It sends shivers down my spine.

“I thought you would keep going.” My voice barely carries the words. I sound raspy and weird.

“Change of plans.”

“Snuggle me to death?”

He laughs and tightens his arms around me, hugging me, then reaches for the cup again. I drink obediently.

“No. You’re coming with me. I’ll show you something.”

“I can’t move.”

“I know. Not now, but soon.” He strokes my arms, then my thighs and calves, carefully massaging blood back into stiff muscles.

“Where’re you taking me?”

“Back to the precinct.”