Page 34 of Magnum, Volume 1

He wasn’t wrong, so I said, “There’s a famous actor and singer who’s well known for throwing wild parties, and we were together, sort of, for the better part of a year. Not exclusive, but he invited me to a bunch of parties, and if I could swing it, I’d come. This was years ago, when you couldn’t buy waterproof spy stuff. Everyone had to strip down to nothing and swim through a tunnel to get to the party room, to make sure there were no cameras, Sir.”

He lifted a brow but didn’t say anything, so I kept going.

“He shared me, but he also let me wear a mask. No one knew it was me. He was big-time into objectification. I might be his footstool for a good part of a party, or I might have to hold a lamp while standing beside him. He had kind of a throne-like chair he sat in, and people came to him like supplicants, mostly. One party, he strung me up and let people flog me, two at a time, tits and back, for over an hour. He supplied these deerskin floggers that were fucking heaven, and I was so far into subspace by the end, I have no idea how many people fucked me. He insisted on condoms, so…” Another shrug. “I’m always safe, Sir, and have never had a blood test show I’ve caught anything.”

Part of me was worried he’d be less interested in me after hearing how many men I’d been with, but if that was the case, it was good to know up front. Men get accolades for fucking dozens and dozens of women, but the women are sluts if they play the field? Fuck that, and fuck any man who thinks that way. I don’t need them in my life.

“Good to know,” he said, his tone a little off, and I met his gaze to try to figure out what he was thinking. “I’ve been to some of those parties, swimming through the tunnel to the purple room. It was…” he shrugged. “Eight years ago, probably long before you. I once lived a different life than the one you see now.”

Purple room. I doubted many people who hadn’t attended a party knew the walls were painted a deep purple. I gave him a smile, which quickly disappeared at his next words.

“Five foods you hate. Answer fast, cunt.”

“Brussels sprouts,” I said immediately while trying to think of four more. “Grapefruit. Bell peppers, which I’m allergic to. Asparagus, tuna, and salmon.” I took a breath. “Boiled cabbage, but raw or stir-fried is fine.”

He looked at my plate, which was empty, and said, “Stand, slave.”

I stood, understanding this meant my ability to speak was withdrawn.

“Hands behind your back, feet shoulder-width apart. What is this pose called?”

I dug through my mind and answered, “Wait, Sir.”

“Correct. Do you know inspection?”

I laced my fingers behind my head, and he nodded.

“I work on the carrot and stick philosophy. Orgasms at night are earned by how well you go above and beyond during the day. Please me and you get orgasms. Displease me and you do not. You will rarely be allowed release when I fuck you in the mornings. I find frustrated, desperate little slaves behave better.”

He stood and looked down at me. “Clean the kitchen and come to the bedroom, little fuckslave.”

And with that, he left the room.

I stood still for a handful of seconds, heart hammering, the plug holding me so wide open my asshole spasmed around it. My calves and the balls of my feet ached from the heels, and the cincher kept my breathing shallow. I knew what was coming later. He’d said he was looking forward to hearing me scream when he fucked me with the plug still in. The thought made my stomach tighten and my muscles clench around the intrusion.

Cleaning the kitchen took longer than it should’ve. Every time I bent to load the dishwasher or reached up to put something away, the cincher bit in and squeezed my internal organs while the plug sent jagged pangs that radiated out from my poor, stretched hole.

I kept freezing, trying to breathe through the pressure. My hands shook a little when I wiped down the counters. My pussy was still raw and sore from this morning, and the idea of him forcing himself back inside me while I was filled by the plug made my thighs press together and my clit throb despite my fluttering stomach.

By the time I finished, my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

I had to make myself walk upstairs. Every step brought me closer to things I craved beyond words despite the dread making my feet drag. The hallway to his bedroom seemed longer than it had earlier. I could already feel how much tighter everything would be once he was inside me again. The thought made my legs unsteady. Or maybe it was the heels.

When I reached his bedroom, he was sitting on a solid wooden chair with no arms. He looked completely relaxed, but his eyes were dark.

“Over my lap, slave.”

The position he demanded was awkward as hell. I had to fold myself across his thighs, weight mostly on my arms, toes barely touching the hardwood floor, my ass and pussy completely vulnerable. The cincher made it hard to breathe deeply, and the fat plug shifted and settled deeper, a constant pressure that made me even more aware of how open and presented I was.

He didn’t speak once he had me in position, merely rested one hand on my lower back to hold me in place while he slowly spanked my ass with the other.

But this wasn’t punishment. There was a gentle warm-up, and every dozen strokes, he’d slide his fingers between my legs and stroke through my folds, barely tease my entrance… and then another dozen spanks followed by more brief, maddening touches. The pattern repeated until I was panting, thighs trembling, fighting the urge to push back against his hand every time he teased me and left me empty yet again.

He gradually increased the force. The heat in my ass deepened into a blaze, and every strike reminded me my ass was crammed full and my pussy was empty and so fucking needy. My clit rubbed against his thigh with each jolt. The pressure low in my belly tightened fast — too fast.

I was dangerously close, and my clit against his thigh wasn’t helping. I bit my lip hard and tried to hold still, to hold onto the tidal wave threatening to burst free. I didn’t have permission. I couldn’t come without asking, and I wasn’t even allowed to ask.

He must have felt me getting close, because he moved me back a little, so my clit was no longer touching his leg, and he spanked harder, louder, driving the desperate edge back until the urgency eased into pure throbbing heat, and the danger of losing control faded.