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And so it went on. It was the most merciless punishment she'd ever witnessed as a Mistress. The clock on the nightstand ticked on and on as he brought her up to a pinnacle with a mouth and tongue that never seemed to tire of eating out her pussy, of playing with her anus, of making her ass and quivering thighs tender with short bites that she suspected were leaving light marks on her skin. Again and again she almost came, but he'd pull back. He brought a bucket of ice to the bed. At times he would clamp a handful of it down on her nearly climaxing clit, numbing the reaction, drawing it back. One, two, three. . . seven times. On the seventh time, tears were running down her face from the frustration, her body all fire. She was coming no matter what, damn him. He couldn't take away the choice. But then she gasped as his fingers opened her and he began to gently insert round balls of ice in her cunt. Two, three of them. And then, though she writhed and screamed, he did the same to her anus. Putting the ice balls in his mouth first to suck off the potentially rough outer coating, he made them clear and slick before he inserted them, the cold instantly burning. When he finally put his hot mouth over her pussy, heat and cold warred at cross purposes.
She couldn't do anything. Every touch brought forth a cry from her lips. She was beyond the ability to form words which was a blessing, because she would have begged without shame for the climax he was holding just above her head, daring her to ask for it. And she understood that was the purpose, with the clarity that such incredible torture was bringing to her.
He'd told her he would teach her about the nature of a submissive but he was also teaching her how to be submissive to him. That wasn't a newsflash to her, but to take her rushing down a slippery slope to it so quickly. . . She couldn't resist at this moment, couldn't even think. All she wanted was to come, to have him make her come. Every wiggle made the ice melting in her body drive her higher, wilder with no relief. He let her thrash now, caught between unbelievable discomfort and pleasure at once, the cold searing her, demanding her compliance.
She'd said no sex. She didn't care if he broke the rule, she just needed the craven want to stop. Oh God, how could something hurt so much and feel so good? Her cunt aching from cold, screaming for his heat, she wanted his mouth even deeper.
Then she heard him unfasten his jeans, the zipper coming down. He straddled her hips, his thighs pressing on either side of her.
The wet tip of his cock trailed down one quivering buttock then the other, then up the crease in the center, teasing her entrance where water from the melting ice was dampening her, trickling down to the folds of her pussy to join the water pooling beneath her there.
He shifted, moved and she felt him applying a lubricant along the inside of her cheeks. Not the rectum itself but the inside crescents of her buttocks. As she grasped what he was about, he took hold of her ass and started to rub his long, very thick length up and down between them, holding her tight arou
nd his pumping cock, increasing the incredible sensation of the ice inside her opening. She moaned, guttural noises she couldn't stop as he used her body as a Master would to achieve his pleasure. While denying her because of her disobedience, her resistance. She was a Mistress, damn it. It was hard for her even to pretend to do this. He knew that. So why was he asking so much of her? And why did she want so much to give him what he asked?
It had been nearly ninety minutes since he'd laid her down here. She felt like her entire body had shattered into individual atoms of screaming need. She'd become a swarm, a cloud of energy with no real substance or form.
How many of her subs had cursed her and begged in the same fervent thought, the way she was cursing him and begging now?
His breath grew harsh in his throat, the clutch of his fingers becoming nearly bruising. Catching hold of her hair, he swept it to her right along the pillow, baring her nape. Letting go of her ass to brace himself with an arm on the mattress, he began to come, his thighs tightening against the outside of her hips.
As he spurted onto her, she felt the hot seed coat her back, the sensitive inside of her shoulder blades, spilling over her scars. Something broke in the shadows of her soul as she understood what he was doing. Marking her as his. Sending a message to the deepest part of her psyche, the part that thought she would never be safe, never be able to elevate herself above the dark level of her nightmares no matter how high she climbed. He was here, guarding the passageways. He knew where she was, could find her anywhere. He knew her.
Her body quivered, wanting so much to accept it, yet overwhelmed by it.
"Please. " She managed it, though fear clutched at the word as it emerged from her raw throat. "Please let me come. "
The tip of his cock trailed down her ass and then his head was between her legs, his hands on her thighs, forcing them more widely apart. Lifting her as his tongue thrust in, he brought heat among the remains of the ice, stroked her passageway and brought it back to warm life. The five o'clock shadow of his beard scraped her clit, her thighs.
Finally, he let her go over.
The orgasm grabbed her body in hands as ruthlessly pleasurable as his. Her abused throat could not stop what went beyond a scream and into the realm of a tearing wound. Body thrashing wildly, hands pulling at her bonds, she sank her teeth into the mattress. She thrust against his mouth over and over until her body simply gave out, the muscles no longer able to do anything but twitch. Small, painful whimpers came from her throat as the pleasure kept whirling through her.
He kept his mouth working her long after she was done and had become so sensitive she was jerking in convulsions against his touch. It told her more adamantly than words that he was making sure he'd driven the lesson home.
Whatever reality existed for her when Sunday came around, he'd taught her in less than an evening that he had the upper hand. That he could Master her.
* * * * *
At last he rose, stood by the bed. Vaguely she registered the fact that he was pulling a towel from the dresser drawer.
"Ty. . . " She stopped, cleared the residual lust out of her voice that made it sound so husky and intimate. "Tyler?"
"Yes, baby?" He knelt next to the bed so she could see his face, the stern set of his mouth, the gentle look in his eyes. No one could be as gentle as a powerful man. Or as ruthless. He was both sides of that coin, cloaking one in the guise of the other, changing back and forth and making her crave both.
"Will you. . . leave it?"
She could barely form words, so exhausted that the energy to move her lips was an effort. She wanted his mark on her, wanted to feel it dry on her skin, smell the heavy scent of him.
The immediate burn of hot possessiveness in his eyes told her she'd pleased him immeasurably. She didn't want to feel the new flood of aroused reaction in her body that came as an involuntary response to it.
"All right. Sleep, Marguerite. Close your eyes. " Relieved to finally escape that direct, all-too-knowing stare, she closed her eyes.
"I want you to answer me a question before you slide off into dreams. " His voice was a murmur. A lullaby. "And answer it without thinking it through. What is it about BDSM that attracts you so?"
The question rolled around her mind as if on clouds. The answer came slowly, dreamily. "People are. . . themselves, their real selves in sex. Particularly BDSM. Can't hide evil, good. . . weakness or strength. When you strip a sub down, you know who they are. They can try but they can't hide it - not if the top is good. It all comes out. . . "
"Good answer. " She felt his lips brush her nose, her closed eyes. "Sweet dreams, princess. "
