The plug is smaller than his c**k.
That is the only mercy he gives me.
Marcus makes me lie on my back on his bed with my knees pulled to my chest while he works it into my ass with two slick fingers and a patience that feels cruel. It burns. It stretches. I whimper and try to close my legs and he just slaps the inside of my thigh and keeps pushing until the widest part pops inside and the base sits flush against me.
“Breathe,” he says. “That’s going to stay in until I decide it comes out.”
He doesn’t take it out for dinner.
I sit across from him at the table wearing only his shirt again, the plug shifting every time I move, my p***y still wet and leaking last night’s loads onto the chair. He watches me eat. Every few minutes he tells me to stand, turn around, and spread so he can chec
