Wound Tight Novels & Stories

At the bonds. The thick, witch-twisted ropes parted like silk under a razor. The relief as the pressure released was so immediate it was a new kind of pain—a rushing, burning sensation as blood flowed back into my abused hands. Before I could crumple, he hauled me fully against him, one arm banding around my waist, the other still cupping my head. He was holding me too tightly—bones creaking, bruises protesting—but I clung back just as fiercely, my fingers digging into the torn fabric of his shirt.

“Then, we should wrap it at the distal end?” she asked again. “Nope, we just need to cover the wound,” he said as he stretched his hand to feel her wound. After he had a basic estimate of the intensity of her wound, he wrapped the strip of cloth several times around it. Then, he ordered her to work together with him and tightened the cloth. He was sweating profusely after helping her to tend to her wound. He quietly wiped the blood from his hand on himself, and then raised his hand to caress her face to comfort her, “Don’t worry.”

Variegated ball gowns and dresses flowed around followed by the clattering and the tap of the heels and shoes. Damien snaked his arms around my waist and I placed my arms around his neck. His eyes were boring into mines. Not again. I groaned inwardly. He pulled me closer to him. "We are awfully close." I squeaked out. "Awfully?" He chuckled. "But I think you like it." "No I don't. " I fired back a little too quick. "Let me think. That was not the case in the washroom." He twirled me round twice and then pulled me back to him.

He closed his eyes and tried again, this time pushing himself harder. The heat crept again from his toes and rushed up to his waistline. He held his breath and focused so that it won't reduce again. The force pushed the heat to spread from around his waist to every inch of his bones, down to his back where the wound was. He kept gasping, groaning, and screaming as he felt sharp stings when the heat reached the wound.

I clear my throat and offer him a tight-lipped smile before I press on his injury just enough to distract him. “Holy shit!” He grits out and I give him a wry smile. “Whoops! Stupid me, must have pressed too hard.” “That felt intentional.” He complains and I chortle. A deep, rather maniacal laugh that makes him smile. A devastating, sexy smile, so I press on his wound again. “Mother fucking shit, Tate–”

THWACK! "Ahh!! Argh... Sss..." "There we go! Her hole is heated up now. It’s snapping back on me!" "Ahhh!!! It’s too big... hnghh..." "Sss... so tight. This wet little cunt is amazing. How are you holding up? Do you feel it? I'll grind you slowly." "How is it, brother? Does it taste good?"

“Haven’t heard you say that since—” “Don’t,” I cut him off sharply, ripping a strip from my shirt and pressing it against the wound. He hissed, his jaw tightening. “Still bossy,” he muttered under his breath. “Shut the hell up and lemme fix this,” I shot back. “You’re welcome.” The fabric soaked red fast. I tightened it, ignoring his grunt of pain, then wrapped the rest of the cloth around his arm, securing it with a knot. When I was done, I sat back on my heels, wiping the sweat and grime from my forehead.

He wrapped it tightly around my wound, his fingers moving with sharp precision. I hissed at the pressure. “Hurting you?” he asked, glancing up. I shook my head, biting down a whimper. “Keep going. I’m fine.” His knuckles brushed my skin as he tied the knot firm and strong. His jaw flexed with focus. When he finished, he leaned back slightly, eyes searching mine. “There. Blood flow is slower now.” I stared at him, a strange ache rising in my chest. Why is he doing this? Why is he this gentle when he hasn’t even touched me like Dante has?

tighter. Daphne let out a high, ragged scream, her fingers gripping my neck with ferocious strength. Her inner muscles began to pulse violently around my dick, contracting in tight, wet waves that gripped me like a vice... her whole body shaking... her thighs clamping around my hips... her nails raking down my back... drawing blood...

He sat beside me then held my chin and raised it to see my wound. He started pressing the cotton with alcohol on my wound which made me whimper in pain. "Ouch," I complained when he pressed it too hard. After a while, I felt him blowing hot air on it which made my heart beat erratically. I swallowed hard when he continued blowing air while pressing the cotton on my wounds. I closed my fists tightly to fight the tension that I am feeling. After a while, he covered my cut with the bandage, and when he is done he let go of my chin.