Chapter 67 Beg.

Chapter 67: 67 Beg.

I shrugged. "Alright, fine."

The moment the words left my mouth, I reached out with the power still thrumming under my skin and yanked every loose scrap of metal in the immediate vicinity.

Bolts, brackets, a pair of heavy workshop cuffs she’d left on a bench, even the reinforced rings from some half-finished harness.

They all answered at once, snapping into the air around her like iron filings to a magnet.

Rhea’s ears flicked. "Miles—?"

The cuffs locked around her wrists first, tight enough to bite without cutting. Two more bands clamped her ankles.

I lifted. Her boots left the floor with a startled yelp. In three seconds she was suspended three feet off the ground, arms pulled wide above her head, legs forced open by the ankle restraints.

The remaining metal formed a rough cradle under her thighs and the small of her back so she wouldn’t swing, holding her perfectly horizontal and completely exposed.

She kicked once, experimentally. The cuffs didn’t give.

Her cropped jacket had ridden up; the sleeveless shirt underneath was already half-untucked.

I used a thin ribbon of metal to slice the shirt open from hem to collar in one clean line. The fabric fell away. Same treatment for the shorts she’d been wearing under the utility jacket.

In under ten seconds she was naked except for the grease stains on her skin and the goggles still pushed up into her messy hair.

Rhea’s amber eyes were huge. Her golden-brown ears stood straight up. "Okay. Okay, this is new."

"You spent ten minutes treating my cock like a museum piece," I said, stepping between her spread thighs. The height was perfect; the head of me brushed the soft fur at the apex of her legs with every small shift. "Fair’s fair."

I didn’t push in.

Instead I dragged the thick length of myself slowly up and down her slit, coating the shaft in the wetness already gathering there.

She was soaked. The dog-girl thing apparently came with certain... advantages.

Every time the head caught against her entrance she tried to tilt her hips forward, but the metal cradle held her locked in place. All she could do was clench and drip.

"Miles—"

"Not yet."

I kept the slow slide going, letting her feel every vein, every inch of girth she had admired so thoroughly with her tongue.

When she tried to rock against me I tightened the ankle cuffs a fraction and spread her wider. A thin whimper escaped her.

"You’re dripping on the floor," I observed. "That’s going to make a mess."

"Then put it in," she snarled, voice already rough from the earlier throat-fucking. "Stop teasing and fuck me."

I tapped the underside of her chin with one finger, tilting her face up. "Ask nicely."

Her eyes narrowed. The claws on her free fingers flexed uselessly in the air.

For a second I thought she might refuse on principle. Then I rolled my hips and let the head of my cock nudge just inside her, stretching the rim, before pulling away again.

"Nngh!" The sound she made was pure frustration.

"Please," she bit out.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

I gave her another shallow inch and stopped. The heat of her was immediate, tight, fluttering around the intrusion. Her ears flattened. "Miles—"

"Try again."

She glared. I pulsed the metal under her back, bouncing her lightly so the tip popped free. A thin string of her own wetness connected us for a second before breaking.

"Please, Master," she forced out, the word tasting foreign and delicious on her tongue. "Please fuck your little dog bitch."

Something dark and satisfied uncoiled in my chest.

I rewarded her by sinking in another two thick inches, slow enough that she felt every millimeter of stretch.

Her head fell back, mouth open, a broken moan spilling out. The cuffs around her wrists creaked as she pulled against them.

"Louder."

"Please, Master—ah—please fuck your bitch. I need it. I need your cock."

I gave her half. The stretch was visible; her entrance was stretched tight around the girth she had spent so long cataloguing.

Her thighs trembled in the metal cradle. I stayed there, not thrusting, just letting her feel the weight of it inside her while I reached up and pinched one stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me what you are."

"Your bitch," she gasped. "I’m your bitch, Master. Please—please move—"

I slammed the rest of the way home.

The sound she made was half scream, half howl. Her body arched hard against the restraints, ears pinned flat, eyes rolling.

I bottomed out and stayed there, grinding deep, letting her adjust to the sudden fullness. The metal held her perfectly still so she couldn’t escape even an inch of it.

Then I started fucking her in earnest.

Long, deep strokes that dragged almost all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt.

Every thrust made the suspension jingle and sway. Rhea’s tits bounced with the force of it; spit still shone on her chin from earlier.

I kept one hand on her hip and the other tangled in her hair, using the grip to tilt her head so she had to look at me while I used her.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You—Master—fuck—"

"Say it properly."

"I’m your bitch, Master. Your dirty little dog-girl bitch. Please don’t stop—"

I didn’t. I picked up the pace until the wet slap of skin on skin filled the lab, louder than the welding torches had been.

Every time I bottomed out she clenched hard around me, like her body was trying to keep me inside.

The metal cradle let me change angles with a thought—tilting her hips higher so I dragged across the spot that made her ears twitch and her voice crack, then lower so I could grind against her clit on every stroke.

She came the first time with a choked cry, walls spasming, wetness flooding around my cock and dripping onto the concrete below.

I fucked her straight through it without slowing, the overstimulation making her thrash against the cuffs until the metal sang.

"Again," I ordered.

"I can’t—"

"You can. Beg for it."

"Please, Master—please make your bitch come again—"

I shifted the ankle restraints, folding her legs higher and wider until she was almost bent in half in mid-air. The new angle let me bury every thick inch without mercy.

Her second orgasm hit harder than the first; a full-body shudder that left her babbling, ears limp, tears tracking through the grease on her cheeks.

I was close myself. The tight, rhythmic flutter of her cunt and the broken way she kept calling herself my bitch were dragging me over the edge fast. I leaned down, still thrusting, and spoke against her ear.

"Where do you want it?"

"Inside," she sobbed. "Please, Master—fill your bitch up—"

That did it. I slammed deep one last time and came hard, thick pulses flooding her while her walls milked every drop.

The force of it left me braced against the metal cradle for a few seconds, breathing hard, still buried to the root.

When I finally pulled out, a slow trickle of come followed, running down the cleft of her ass and dripping to the floor.

I lowered the suspension gradually until her back touched a cleared workbench, then released the cuffs.

Rhea stayed sprawled exactly where I put her, legs still open, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

I brushed a thumb across her swollen lower lip. "Octoporian."

She managed a weak, ruined smile. "Already taking it apart, Master. Promise."

I left her there long enough to find a rag and clean the worst of the mess off both of us.

When I came back she was still in the same position, one ear twitching lazily, looking thoroughly wrecked and entirely too pleased about it.

"Next time," she rasped, voice wrecked in the best way, "I’m building the restraints myself. Better range of motion."

I snorted, tossed the rag aside, and hauled her upright. "Next time you build anything without asking, I’m chaining you to the ceiling for a week."