Chapter 9: Absolutely Ruined

Continued from chapter 8:

"Don't you do it!" Keila commands, her voice dangerous as she spanks me. Her satin-covered thighs rub together, deliberately trying to push me over the edge even as her words command the opposite.

"We'll tie you naked to the ceiling beams!" she cries.

Spank. Spank. Spank.

"We'll thrash every inch of your body with leather straps!"

Spank. Spank. Spank.

"You're only delaying the inevitable, Ero," Naomi whispers, playing me like a fiddle.

"No! No! No! No! No!" I scream, imagining the scene—dancing like a puppet as Naomi and Keila kiss my body with leather.

"Oh yes, Ero," Naomi says, grinning wickedly. "I've always wanted to whip a white man. It's going to happen. All you have to do is..." She puts her whole hand into my bottom, and with all four fingers and her thumb, she gently drums on my pulsing prostate.

Chapter 9:

My entire body convulses violently as Naomi's fist invades my rectum, her knuckles stretching my entrance wide. The sudden fullness combined with the relentless drumming on my prostate shatters whatever composure I had left. My back arches so sharply it looks painful, my head snapping back as a guttural, broken noise escapes my throat.

"There it is! Look at him shake!" Keila laughs wildly, watching my desperate struggle fail spectacularly. She keeps her thighs clamped tight, refusing to let me find relief anywhere else, forcing the buildup to concentrate entirely within my bowels.

Naomi leans down, her breath hot against my sweat-slicked neck, her tone dropping to a dark, possessive purr.

"That's it, Eros. Give in. Show us exactly how much you needed this," she says.

"Spank him, Keila," Naomi says gently. "Spank it all out of him. Every. Last. Drop."

Keila's eyes flash with predatory glee at the instruction. She raises her hairbrush high, and brings it down with meaty pop on my angry red bottom. The crack echoes through the room like a gunshot, the impact sending a violent tremor through my already overstimulated body.

"With pleasure, Naomi!" she cries out, her voice rising in excitement. She descends upon my exposed flesh with renewed ferocity, her strikes coming faster and harder. Each blow of the brush lands with thudding splat, turning my bottom a deep, angry crimson as she works to beat the tension out of my muscles.

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Inside me, Naomi doesn't withdraw. Instead, she uses the chaos of the spanking to further destabilize me, her hand moving with the rhythm of Keila's strikes.

I shatter, coming apart in a million pieces. Wracking sobs fill my body as I arch my back as far as I can. My penis is trapped between Keila's satin-covered thighs, rubbing together, coupled with Naomi tap-tap-tapping my prostate. I have the orgasm of all orgasms—detonating in an explosion that feels like a bomb going off.

The first burst of my release leaves the tip of my penis. After that, I don't so much as spasm as I do gush—torrential amounts of semen pour out of me like a firehose in one steady stream, one continuous release of hot, painfully intense pleasure all concentrated in the center of my body.

I scream and scream and scream while Keila spanks and spanks and spanks. Naomi milks me while she does it, wringing me out completely. I am quivering, sobbing, and trembling over Keila's knee, my limpening penis floating in a warm pool of my own release, trapped like a water balloon in the satin of Keila's skirt between her thighs.

Keila's thighs squeeze tight, trapping the flood of my release against her satin skirt. She feels the warmth soaking into the fabric, the sheer volume of my surrender drenching her legs. She doesn't stop the spanking immediately. Instead, she slows the tempo, letting each strike land heavily on my sensitive, spent flesh, punctuating my ragged sobs with dull thuds.

"Look at you," Keila breathes, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Absolutely ruined."

She finally relaxes her grip, allowing my limp, exhausted body to slump heavily across her lap. She strokes my damp hair away from my forehead, her touch suddenly tender despite the carnage she just wrought.

Inside me, Naomi maintains her invasive presence, her gloved fingers still curled deep within my emptied core.

Naomi leaves her hand in for a moment, letting me catch my breath, before removing it from my bottom slowly. I shudder, still sobbing as it comes out with a lewd, wet plopping sound.

Naomi withdraws her hand with deliberate, torturous slowness. The wet, suctioning sound of her glove sliding against my raw interior echoes in the quiet room, followed by the distinct, fleshy plop as her hand clears my entrance. The sudden emptiness leaves me feeling hollow and strangely cold, my body continuing to tremble from the aftershocks of the intensity.

"Poor thing," Naomi says, her voice smooth and devoid of pity. "You really were holding everything inside, weren't you?"

She wipes her remaining gloved hand on a nearby towel, her movements deliberate and careful.

"Consider that the first lesson," Naomi continues. "You belong to us now, Eros. And we haven't even begun to teach you the rest."

Keila still holds my limp weight across her lap. She feels the soaked warmth of my release seeping through her skirt, the expensive satin darkened and clinging to her skin from my release. Her thighs remain slightly parted, cradling me in the aftermath.

They help me off Keila's lap, stripping away the saturated satin finery that clings to my skin. My body glistens with sweat and the evidence of my own surrender. Keila remains seated, smiling up at me with an expression I cannot quite read—mysterious, satisfied, knowing. Naomi's hand settles gently on my shoulder, and she guides me downward with deliberate care until I am kneeling between Keila's spread thighs.

"Naughty boy," Keila hisses, her voice dripping with theatrical reproach.

To be continued in chapter 10...