18+ MDNI | Reader: you/your, hole, orifice, pathetic mouth | Speaker: I/me/my, cock | Themes: extreme insertion, torture, cruelty, domination, dacryphilia, pain, pain, pain
Lmk if I need to add/remove tags.
Let me use the meanest toy on you. Made of hard rubber instead of soft silicone. Textured with bumps that you, were you being slightly less charitable, might even call spikes. They scratch painfully on the sides of your hole as I shove the toy inexorably deeper inside you.
The toy is blunt and slightly tapered, without a distinct tip. It starts out medium-thick, already at the limit of how much you can comfortably take, and it only gets thicker and thicker until it feels like you're about to rip in half.
I don't let up on the pressure, twisting back and forth to corkscrew it deeper into you as my progress slows. I have one hand on the base of the toy and one hand pushing down on your stomach, making sure you feel every inch.
After stretching you to an unbelievable degree, the taper becomes a blessedly straight shaft for the last two inches. A respite, if you can call it that, before the knot.
The shaft alone was cruel and unforgiving—the knot is plainly torturous. You can't help but clench in resistance to the mere thought of it inside you, even though you know it makes it worse. After fifteen minutes of constant twisting and thrusting inside your strained hole, you're sure that I'll give up. It simply won't fit. Unfortunately for you, I'm a persistent bastard.
I flip you over and line up my knee between your legs. I dig my nails into your hips and pull you towards me, pressing with my full weight on the toy. The obscene knot indents your skin as your hole strains to swallow one, two, and then three more rings of the bumps. Tears are streaming down your face, your body is nearly convulsing, and your world narrows down to become just the pain in your guts and the throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears.
I pull back my knee, and slam it forward into the base of the toy. If your face weren't already buried in a tear-soaked pillow, your scream would have hurt my ears. I'll have to gag you next time. Agony screams through your insides, making you nearly vomit from the sheer intensity of it.
You lose count of how many times my knee pounds the toy into you like a sledgehammer—it must be dozens—before your ruined, aching, bloodied hole finally accepts the knot into it's swollen embrace.
You hardly notice yourself choking and coughing as I use your pathetic whimpering mouth to get myself off, releasing all over your flushed and tear-streaked cheeks.
As I leave to go clean myself up and take a shower, I give the base of the toy a solid slap as I walk by. Your fucked-out body doesn't have the energy to do much more than shudder weakly in response and let out a hoarse groan. If you could think about anything other than the sensation of the rubber lodged in your orifice, you might be dreading when I come back and rip it out of you. But instead, your mind is consumed by the torment pulsing between your legs in time with your heartbeat, causing the disconcerting illusion of the toy growing ever larger as it sits statically inside your hole.
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