He laughs. “This is a hungry little asshole, did you feel how it sucked me in? I think I want to see something shoved up this empty ass of yours, slave,” he says. “Would you like that? Do you want me to fill this empty ass?”
“If it pleases you, Master.”
Paul is still here with me, I can hear it in his laugh. More and more, I think the Beast and Paul are the same person.
Not long ago I wouldn’t have believed it, that I’d learn to love anal sex. It feels amazing. There’s just something about it. It’s dirty, it’s hot and it’s submissive as hell. But then it’s probably because of the way my Master introduced me to it. The fact that Paul loves taking me in the ass is a major part of the sensual high.
The lube is cool on my skin. Usually he warms it, but that’s not necessary right now. Inside and out, I’m on fire from that flogging. He presses the plug against my tight anal ring.
“Open for me,” he commands.
“Yes, Master,” I say. I take a deep breath and relax. This is nothing compared to Paul’s dick.
He works it in without much difficulty. My neglected clit and pussy both throb as he does. The sense of fullness with that little bite of burning pain, flicks my ‘take me, fuck me’ switch to full-on high.
I fidget and quiver and try to remain still. I’m so hyper horny that I make constant noise, whimpering, begging and moaning. “Please, Master, please. Please, use your slave.”
He chuckles. Even though I’m frustrated and desperate, I’m glad that he’s happy. He loves to hear me beg. When he finishes inserting the plug and it’s all the way in, he leaves me to wash his hands.
My Master is always so careful with me.
When he returns he brings along a riding crop. Shit. I still have to wait to come. He moves the crop, trailing it along between my breasts and down to my pussy. He teases my folds with it. Getting the leather wet with my cream, making me squirm. Anticipation is killing me.
“Master, please,” I moan, shamelessly begging.
“What do you want?”
“Fuck me, Master. Please.”
“Not yet. I want to look at my beautiful slave first.”
I swear that he’s only making me wait as a challenge to himself. His cock is huge and dripping, he holds it, rubbing it up and down with his hand. Seeing him stroking himself is such a turn-on.
Dragging the crop up along my body, he brings it to my lips. “Lick it,” he says. I open my mouth and taste myself on the leather.
“Do you like your taste?”
“Yes, Master.”
It’s wonderful to be lusted after. Paul wants me badly. I bask in his intense scrutiny, but suddenly I remember something that I didn’t tell him. Crap. I must tense up or something, because he immediately knows.
“Emily,” he says, with his most menacing Dom voice and I know that I’m in trouble.
Chapter 41.
“BDSM is a most useful tool for personal growth and enlightenment.”
– André Chevalier
~~~
“Look at me, slave,” my Master demands. “Tell me what your attention is on.”
I lick my lips and swallow nervously. There’s no point in hiding. I wish I’d thought to discuss this before the scene. Now I’ll put him in a bad mood. “I feel guilty, Master.”
“Why?” he says impatiently, slapping the crop loudly against his thigh. The sound is somewhat ominous.
“I saw you with that blonde today,” I blurt out.
His brows furrow, as he tries to recall the blonde of the day. His face lightens when he remembers. “What, the Cadbury sales rep?” he asks, incredulously. “What about her?”
“I saw you talking to her and I saw the way she looked at you. She was so sexy, dressed in that scooped neckline and tight sweater.”
I stop talking while I remember the feelings that balled up inside of me at the time: anger, jealousy, fear of losing Paul and hopelessness. I always worry that someday he’ll cheat on me. Yet, I know that he loves me; I saw his reaction when I was almost hit by a car. That wasn’t make-believe.
Paul loves me and I’m a slave to his love. I’d do anything for him, yet somehow I’m still holding back. I don’t believe that he’ll be loyal over time. I’d gladly change if I could, but it’s a protective instinct. If he cheats, when he cheats, I’ll be able to handle it better with this crazy attitude of mine. Won’t I?
I don’t feel it all of the time, but when I do, it really hits me. Why can’t I trust him completely? We’re engaged to be married. The wedding invitations have even been sent out.
He pushes the riding crop against me, dragging it from my cheek, down my neck across my breasts, along my belly and stops at my clit. Usually he trails it in a soft, sensual caress. Not this time.
I swallow, hard. His lips press together, white with fury. Fuck. Whatever comes next is going to hurt.
Crack!
“Oww!”
The crop strikes my inner thigh and I shriek. Adrenaline blasts through me and my heart rate spikes. Wow. No warm up. I usually enjoy the riding crop. Paul gives light and sensuous strokes with it, using repetitive, gentle slaps. It builds up then, to something remarkable and pleasurable. It doesn’t have to hurt.
This is discipline and it really hurts.
My Master looms over me panting with rage. Glaring fiercely at me, his body is rigid. Every part of him emanates savage energy. He’s primitive and uncontrolled.
Terrified, I cower and shake, trembling in my restraints. He’s the personification of raw power and authority. He’s the King. Right now, I feel like more than his slave. I feel like his property, his ‘thing’ to do with as he wishes. For the first time ever I worry that he really wants to hurt me.
I can see now why he fears that someday he’ll beat me to a pulp. I imagine myself covered in welts, bruises and bloody cuts.
This is the Beast in all its savage glory.
I cringe and grit my teeth. I want to shut my eyes, but I cannot look away. I don’t even recognize this man.
Paul’s face is red, his eyes wide, wild and untamed. He grips the riding crop so tightly that his fingers are white. I see him raise it, ready to wield it. Will he use it? I refuse to use my safeword until I find out.
A long moment passes.
In reality, probably only a few seconds go by.
I watch as he puts a lid on his temper. He sighs impatiently and sits down beside me. I see his hands tremble and I don’t know why this surprises me. He’s been mainlining so much adrenaline that it’s a wonder that his whole body isn’t shaking.
“Master? May I speak?”
“Yes,” he says with a disappointed sigh. “Speak freely.”
“Master? Was that the Beast at its worst? Because as scary as you looked, you still had control.”
He gives me a faint smile. “I don’t think it gets worse than that,” he says.
“You’re strong. You controlled it.”
His smile is broader this time. “Yes, I did. Even though you make me crazier than I’ve ever been before with your ridiculous insecurities, I was able to control myself.”
“I’m sorry, Master. But I’m glad that I drive you crazy,” I say and then quickly backpedal. “Not that I drive you crazy on purpose, of course, but that I really tested you. And you didn’t fail. You controlled the Beast.”
He cups my face, his fingers graze me in a gentle caress. “That’s true. Thank you, my gorgeous, beautiful, wonderful slave. You’re very good for me. Do you know that?”
I smile. “Yes, Master. We’re good for each other. And I’m stupid to be so insecure. I will, of course, accept whatever discipline you wish.”
“Sweetheart,” he says in a quiet voice. “You told me the truth. I can’t punish you for that. You have silly thoughts, but I can’t punish you for that, either. We all have stupid thoughts. What did you actually do that you feel guilty about?”
I bite my lower lip. “I ran away.”
“You ran away???
?
“When I see you with another woman, I freak out and run away. Today I just went to my office and shut the door. I sat and thought about it and imagined you cheating. Then I had a long cry. It took a while to get over it. When I did, I just put it out of my mind and went back to pretending to myself that everything was okay.”
“Alright,” he says with a heavy sigh. I can see his hard-on beginning to flag. Nothing turns Paul off faster than having to talk about emotional upsets. “What should you do when this happens? Because it’s going to happen again.”
“Next time I won’t run away and I’ll tell you about it sooner. But I don’t want to act like a crazy jealous woman always in your face, either. I’m sorry Master. I just don’t know how to get over this.”
He bends over, frames my face and gives me a gentle kiss. Not passionate, more affectionate. “We’ll figure it out, Em.” He stands up suddenly. “But you’re getting five for running away.”
“Yes, Master,” I say.
The first strike hits my nipple and before I’ve even stopped screaming, the second hits my other nipple. In truth, he hasn’t hit that hard, but my poor tits are still recovering from their time in nipple clamps. They’re so sensitive already. I cry big tears, pant breathlessly and drip with sweat.
“Mercy, Master, mercy!” I scream.
“No,” he growls, his lips firm. “Do you want to use your safeword?”
“No” – gasp – “Master” – gasp – “no.”
I get no chance to recover, Paul’s utterly ruthless. The third and fourth strike between my legs, on each swollen fold and the fifth hits my clitoris. My whole body arches. A wave of excruciating pain and inexplicable pleasure crashes through me.
It’s like I have a fever. My flesh burns and I burn, both inside and out. My pussy contracts. Holy hell. I have to concentrate really hard to prevent climax.
I’m weeping uncontrollably. I’m screaming. I’m a mess, yet somehow this punishment is exactly what I need. Despite appearances, I honestly feel better and we both know it.
Paul sits down beside me, strokes and soothes. I’m doing that throat catching breathing that you do when you’ve been crying. That inhaling and hiccupping huh, huh, huh thing. When I finally seem to be getting over it, I’m able to actually look at him.
Well. Disciplining me fixed his erection, anyway. He’s fucking huge.
Once I recover, he puts a red scarf in the palm of my right hand. “When you open your hand, this scarf will fall,” he explains. “If you do this, I’ll stop instantly. This is your non-verbal safeword, understand?”
I nod. “Yes, Master.” We’ve discussed this at length prior to the scene, because it’s impossible to talk when someone is cutting off your air.
My Master captures my chin and pulls it toward him. He looks in my eyes. “Tell me slave,” he says in his deep, seductive voice. “Do you want to be fucked?”
“Oh, God, yes, please, Master.”
He stands. With a hand on each thigh, Paul runs his tongue between my legs. Every ounce of throbbing, burning pain disappears, turning instantly into electric bolts of pleasure. I convulse with ecstasy. Now I beg now for a different reason.
“Fuck me, Master, please, please, please!”
Paul crawls up me, until his cock is at my entrance. I moan, long and low. Everything inside me vibrates with anticipation.
“Don’t you dare come, slave. You don’t have my permission.”
“Yes, Master… I mean, No Master,” I whimper. My body tingles at the thought of him burying himself inside of me.
Slowly, so slowly, he pushes into my slick channel until he’s all of the way in. We both groan as he enters and when our pubic bones press together. His pubic hair deliciously teases my swollen clit. Between the plug and his cock, I’m incredibly full.
I pant in short breaths, my heated core savagely pulses. It’s a brutal reminder of how close to the edge I am. I don’t know if I can hold it much longer.
My Master senses this and pauses. We both remain still, waiting for our control to improve and catch our breath. Breath. I forgot for a moment.
This is about breath play.
The idea scares the shit out of me. But it also turns me on in equal measure.
Chapter 42.
“Never underestimate a woman.”
– André Chevalier
~~~
My Master’s eyes blaze with lust and heat. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life,” he says. His voice has an edgy, husky bite to it.
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, too,” I pant.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You’re mine,” he growls. “I’m taking what I want.”
Suddenly, he pins me down with a hand around my throat, while plundering my mouth in an overpowering kiss. I make no resistance to this assault on my senses. His desire for me fills my hungry soul.
My Master takes, and takes, and takes. I’m open to this ravenous need inside of him. Moaning and squirming, I push myself to him. I give, and give, and give some more.
His bruising kiss is so hard that I’m sure that he’ll leave marks. I don’t care.
When he pulls back to stare into my eyes, we’re both panting like we’ve run a marathon. His cock is just there inside me, but Paul remains motionless. When it twitches I almost climax. The pressure and heat of him makes me thrum with pleasure.
I stop my bodily impulse to struggle and push against him in any way that I can. It would take so little for me to come.
I don’t want to come. Not without permission from my Master.
His gaze travels to my throat. I feel his intent. He unbuckles my collar and slowly, gently, pulls it in another notch, increasing constriction. It doesn’t pinch my skin, but it’s tight like a belt.
Well, he is tightening a belt – a belt around my throat.
This is how people who die from auto-erotic asphyxiation do it. They stop their ability to draw breath with a belt. Many who’ve died ‘officially’ of suicide by hanging were trying to get off, not trying to kill themselves.
I feel the leather constrict further around my neck, squeezing the oxygen from me. Cutting off my air. So. This is the strangling thing that moves him so fully.
This is my Master’s wicked fantasy, his ultimate kink.
I like the captured, held and trapped sensation that I get from having a belt around my neck. It’s proof of his possession and ownership. That I understand. But I can’t inhale. My lungs begin to burn. I open my mouth to take in oxygen but nothing happens. This choking, airless feeling is supposed to heighten an orgasm?
My orgasms are already mind-blowing.
I don’t see the point of this at all.
Yet.
Fear chills me. With his hand pulling the belt tighter around my throat, I struggle to breathe. It’s then that my Master starts fucking me, slowly moving in and out. In and out.
All the way in, all the way out.
All the way in, all the way out.
Over and over again. He doesn’t change his speed or rhythm.
I feel his chest hair rubbing on my hypersensitive nipples and his pubic hair rubbing against my swollen, aching clit. I feel his big cock thrusting inside. The plug up my ass increases the fullness. I’m bound to my Master’s will, unable to move.
I’m so fucking close, I’m right there.
It takes all of my effort not to come.
These are new sensations and something more. My chest is tight but my heart hammers for release. My eyes pinch. A desperate fire is rising in my belly, threatening to consume me, to burn me. My hands and arms tingle as they are denied oxygen.
Is this too risky? Should I stop this?
But I trust my Master. He’s done this before. I resolve to wait. If I feel as though I may lose consciousness, I’ll drop the scarf.
My heart pounds louder in my throat, in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. So very loud and very fast. My head pounds too but not with pain – w
ith a strange, intoxicating and dreamy pressure.
If I wasn’t lying down I know that I’d collapse.
I can’t express the light-headed high I’m on. My focus is on my Master and on his dark compelling eyes. I see black and white sparkles, as my sight tunnels. I see nothing else, only Paul’s eyes.
My vision starts to close in, it narrows with gray, then black edging. Spots dance before me.
Through it all, there is only my Master. I’m surrounded by him, the sight, the feel, the weight of him and his pressure on my neck. I’m immersed in him; my Master is my entire world.
Is this killing me? This is nuts! But why do I feel so loved and adored?
Paul loves me more than he loves himself.
The man makes me crazy. Emotions, so many emotions! I’m excited and turned on. I feel so alive! With this one act, I’ve submitted more completely to my Master than I ever have before.
The pleasure of it is incredible. Intense. Profound.
I have no desire but to simply let go.
I’m also afraid. Actually terrified. I can feel how wide my eyes are. I can’t breathe! And I realize then that this really could be it. I could die…
But I’m not sure if I’m going to die or if I’m going to come. Shit. At this rate I’ll climax to death. That’s it. I’m going to drop that fucking scarf.
Just before I do, Paul commands harshly, “Come for me, Emily.” He continues to thrust deeply.
My pleasure is intense, so incredibly intense that it’s excruciating! I explode in a violent orgasm without making a sound. I can’t make a sound. My Master owns my voice. I’m so lightheaded that I almost pass out, but somehow I stay with him.
His dark gaze compels me. He stares into me, continuing to look deeply, to hold on to my soul.
My Master controls my air, my voice, my mind, my body, my life... my everything. It’s all so wonderful and strange.
He loosens my collar suddenly and I gasp in a large breath. The incredible scent of him explodes into my lungs like a shot of pure adrenaline.
Life, blood, and air flow back into me. My body is languid, yet I feel energized. A sense of achievement fills my heart. We did it! This crazy fear and fixation that Paul’s had about breath play. It wasn’t so bad.