WARNING: MATURE CONTENT
“I’ve got you. You’re all f**king mine.”
He had his hand wrapped in her hair, holding so tight her
scalp ached. He moved his mouth
against her throat, against a vital artery pulsing with
adrenaline. Pressed up against her
back the way he was, he allowed her no personal space. His
thigh was thrust between her
legs, his erection a bar of steel branding itself on her
buttock, even through his jeans.
When she sucked in a breath, it was all him. Spiced
aftershave, heated male. She wanted to
turn, put her face right against his throat, nestle in that
scent, in his strength.
He controlled everything, and she felt safe. For the first
time in her life. If only he
wasn’t a dream. But in her mind was the only place where she
could give him control.
“You’re thinking again. You get punished when you think.”
As he stepped back, she wanted to reach for him, but she
couldn’t. He had her bound against
a cool cinder-block wall. Embedded manacles held her wrists
and ankles, and dozens of taut,
thin lines crisscrossed her body from shoulders to feet. The
bindings were threaded through
two vertical columns of hooks, outlining her against the
stone. When he released her, until
normal, mundane movement restored her skin, she’d bear the
impressions of those lines. And
other marks as well.
She yelped as the flogger hit her buttocks. The rough,
braided strips bit into skin, left
marks like a bird’s sharp toes.
“Beg for punishment.”
“Please . . . hurt me.”
“No.”
She moaned as he threaded his hand through the crisscrossed
lines to push between the wall
and her body. He caressed her navel, then dropped down to
probe her clit, work it with a
single firm fingertip, an excruciating and pleasurable
tease. “It’s not about hurting you.
It’s about you letting go. Ssshhh . . .”
He soothed, even as he tormented. She struggled like a moth
in a web, made tiny cries as he
kept flicking and tweaking. The orgasm was as close as the
prayer for mercy when he stepped
back.
“I don’t care what you think. Tell me how you feel. The
first word that comes to mind.”
The flogger struck and she jumped. “Afraid.”
He did it again, and she gasped. “Wet.”
He gave a dangerous chuckle. “Trying to get me to play with
you there again, aren’t you?
You’ll have to earn that.”
Whap!
“Hot . . .” “Alive . . .” “Need you” . . . “Aches . . .”
“Stop . . .” “Don’t Stop . . .”
“Free.” She said that one several times. Each stroke made
the feeling more real. The flogger
cut into her, but instead of cringing, she was arching,
trying to lift her hips, spread her
arms wider, a swan taking flight, fighting what held her to
the ground. She licked her lips.
“Master. Please.”
He kept punishing her until she was a quivering mess, then
he closed in on her again, took
hold of her hair in that tight hold she loved. He bit her
neck and she trembled more. “Say
it.”
“I’m yours, Master.” She believed it. There was no doubt. No
fear. No thinking. She heard
that delicious sound of him unbuckling his belt, unzipping
his jeans, then she let out a
sigh of relief as he started to push up inside her.
He’d take her like this, while she was helpless against the
wall. She’d come so hard her
flesh would be scraped by the cinder block, because she’d
writhe against it like a snake
shedding a skin. He’d take her home, rub soft lotions into
her flesh, make her sleep naked
next to him so he could play with her body whenever,
however, he wished, all night long. His
long, strong fingers would stroke those whip marks, the
scrapes, push inside her. Anything
he wanted, she’d give him, because she trusted him with
everything. At least in this moment.
Dawn would come and dread would return. Along with a hundred
other emotions wrapping her up
like those crisscrossed lines, only these imprisoned her
mind and denied her heart.
Only by being his was she truly free.
