“Okay,” he said, releasing her. “Good girl.” But from there he dove his fingers into her pussy, got them slick and wet, then pressed his fingertips against her asshole. He teased her there, poking in one fingertip, then two. She flinched and squeaked. She tensed herself against the intimate invasion, and within moments the count rose to fifteen. “Stay right there,” he said.
He got up and crossed the room, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out a small silver toy. He opened the bedside drawer to pull out a bottle of lubricant and drizzle it onto the toy while she watched wide-eyed.
“Turn over,” he said when he returned. “On your hands and knees, ass up.”
She swallowed, hesitated.
“Sixteen,” he said. “Don’t make me ask again.”
She rolled over on all fours. Again he stifled a smile. She was one huge cringe.
“Seventeen. Head down.”
She lowered her head to the bed. He knelt behind her and noticed she was actually shaking. He made some soothing noises, rubbed the small of her back. Then he used one hand to press down on her, holding her still. “This is only a small plug. I want you to wear it for one hour. Believe me, this is for your own good, because I am going to use your asshole soon, and it will be uncomfortable for you, even with training. So be a good girl and open up for me.”
He pressed it against her. Many moans, twitches, and flinches later, she was up to twenty-five strokes with the crop, but the lovely silver toy sticking out of her ass gave him a deep sexual response. His cock ached to be where the plug was. He wanted to be driving into her ass. Not yet. He leaned down over her, reached around to flick her clit and run his fingers over the tips of her nipples. She bucked at the lightest touch.
“Soon, girl. Not quite yet. How does that feel, the toy in your ass?”
She moaned, and he swatted her thigh.
“You’re already getting twenty-five with the crop. Stop whining and answer properly. How does it feel?”
“It feels naughty, Sir,” she finally managed. “It feels bad, but good.”
“Like you, hmm?” His fingers began to move in slow circles around her clit. Her trembling increased, and she swallowed a gasp. He smiled. “I’m going to make you come now, before I punish you. Otherwise all you’ll be thinking about is how horny you are. You are a horny slut, aren’t you?”
Only the smallest pause, then, “Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m a horny slut.”
“Yes, Sir, I’m a horny slut. Please, please, let me come!”
Lovely begging. He could feel her humming, drawn up tight under his hands. He could make her do any manner of things right now; she was so desperate to get the release he had thus far withheld. But he had tortured her enough.
He thrust his fingers inside her pussy, then drew the moisture downward to stroke across her engorged clit. He gloried in the helpless cries she couldn’t stifle, the violent shudders that wracked her body. When he sensed she couldn’t hold off any longer, he told her to come. He held her hands down to the bed as the orgasm possessed her. He felt her teeth open against the side of his hand, felt her tongue come out to taste his skin. She bit him. Not hard, but hard enough that his cock ached and he had to subdue the impulse to impale her. When he finally felt her go limp, he guided her down onto her tummy. He let her rest, stroking her damp skin. He enjoyed watching the tiny tremors that still shook her from time to time.
“Okay, girl,” he finally said. She moaned as he got up and went to the closet. She looked back over her shoulder as he returned with the whippy crop in his hand. Gorgeous, submissive look. It made some wild thing inside him start to come unhinged. Focus. Control. He was determined to see the scene through, as much as he’d like to bury himself inside her at once. She twitched her bottom slightly to the side, the toy still shining between her cheeks. Nice try at distraction. He smiled and tapped the crop next to her face on the bed.
“You had your fun. Now I have mine.”
She looked over at the thin black implement, too spent and sated to show much of a fear response. Girl goo. Beautiful. He sat beside her on the bed and began to stroke the whippy end of the crop up and down her silken back.
“We had some lessons today. Some training. What did you learn?”
“To let you touch me. To not flinch and blush.”
“Hmm.” He drew the end of the crop down between her legs and teased her there. “Are you blushing now?”
She hid her face. Decidedly blushing. He chuckled low in his throat. “As I suspected, it will take more than one session.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, and she sounded so truly sorry his cock ached.
He buried his hand in her hair, twisted it in his fingers. “Well, you’ll learn.” He stood and took up the crop. He gave a couple of tentative strokes. She cried out by the third stroke, and the fourth made her collapse on her side, her hands reaching back to cover her cheeks.
“Please!”
“Please what?”
“Please, Sir!” She drew out the Sir into a plaintive whine. He knew it hurt. He’d purposely waited until she’d orgasmed so there would be no sexual arousal to dampen the pain. When no safe word came, he went for restraints and tied her hands behind her back while she made little hiccuping sounds of distress. Then he decided to tie her around the waist to the bed, a project that involved lots of rope, lots of adjustment and readjustment until he had her perfectly secured. That is, secured enough to struggle a little but not to twist away. It was all worth it when he resumed, when he got to watch her dodge and fidget through the remaining twenty-one strokes, unable to pull away. She pleaded, “Please, please, please!” and with each plea he grew harder for her.
“Quiet, girl,” he said. “Punishment hurts.”
She didn’t use a safe word even though he pushed her a little further along the pain continuum than he’d pushed her before. He wondered whether she didn’t use it because she didn’t need to or because she wanted to be the perfect submissive for him. He’d have to have a serious talk with her about the fine line between selflessness and self-preservation, about the dangers of perfectionism in S&M. He thought he was skilled enough to recognize her limits, but even the best of dominants erred sometimes.
Later. They’d talk later.
For now he dropped the crop, climbed on the bed behind her, held her sore red ass with the silver toy still shining between her cheeks. He stroked the welted, hot flesh and reached for the bedside drawer.
She was still tied down, and she was wild and wet. He ripped the condom open and rolled it on, then positioned himself at her pussy. She made a deep groaning sound and strained at the ropes, arching for him. Neither one of them seemed capable of human speech. All he could think of was the unbearable need to be inside her. He eased forward, his throbbing cock nudging against the toy in her other passage. The feeling of tightness was incredible. Double penetration. She loved it just as he expected she would. He noted her little hands making fists and felt her trembling just before he was lost to the world. She came within moments of him, howling and bucking, far, far too gone to ask permission first. Afterward he lay sprawled over her, spent and deeply satisfied. He didn’t untie her for a long time.
Chapter Thirteen
“So Angie said she heard from Bucky that you were sharing an apartment with Jackson. Is that true?”
Glenna was desperately trying to get to the bottom of things, and Prosper felt awful for being secretive when Glenna had been such a good friend to her. But at the same time she couldn’t let Glenna, the biggest gossip in the company, know what was going on with her and Jackson.