Page 16 of Magnum, Volume 2

He narrowed his gaze at me, and I walked my now-empty plate and glass to the dirty dishwasher and put them in. He was already wiping the table when I turned, and I told him, “Thank you. For fixing such a wonderful lunch, and for cleaning up.”

He stepped to me and drew me into the warmth of his embrace, wrapping his arms around me.

“I have a few hours of work to do for the club,” he said, his voice vibrating against me, “and you need to get back to your tasks.”

He leaned down, kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. “I do love you, and it feels good to have finally said it.”

“I love you, too, and ditto.”

He released me and patted me on the butt, his voice going all Dom again when he told me, “Get your ass back to work and stop dawdling.”

Chapter 8

Magnum

The two weeks went by way too fucking fast, and I learned so much about my Storm.

The first Sunday, she worked until two o’clock and then turned her phone off, so she spent the rest of the day in her slave accoutrements. I’d stopped putting her shoes on when she was just walking from the doorway to the bed, but she was under strict rules to stay on her tiptoes anytime the cincher was on, even for a trip to the bathroom and back in the middle of the night.

So this was a treat, watching that tight little ass move under the steel bones, her long legs made even longer by the stilettos — fuck, my cock was granite hard the entire afternoon. I didn’t want her doing housework all day, not when these hours were so precious. I did, however, order her to make a late lunch for us and then clean up.

After we ate, I ordered her into a dozen of the Gorean positions for the simple thrill of forcing her to obey order after order after order. Okay, and also to watch her move back and forth, up and down, displaying herself from every angle.

Then I told her to go get her vibrator and pleasure herself. I didn’t put the pressure of making her get herself off into it, though that was the goal. It bothered me that she hadn’t been able to, and I wanted to see if she could get there with me watching and then ordering her to come. If she couldn’t, I’d get involved and make it happen with my mouth and fingers, but if she could, it meant I could help her over the phone.

And it worked for me to order her around, tell her when to put it on her clit, when she could take it off and slide it inside her pretty little cunt, how fast to fuck herself with it while she pinched her clit with her other hand.

And when I ordered her to come, she fucking did, hole clenching around the vibe while she made the most beautiful orgasmic sounds.

“You’ll call me when you need to come and I’m not here,” I told her. “You’ll need a larger vibrator, too. I’m going to want to know you’re stretched so wide it hurts when we do this on the phone.”

I didn’t plan to leave her for five weeks at a time again, but she still needed to have some orgasms between visits.

She made us a quick dinner and then cleaned up with the cincher tight around her narrow waist, a huge plug stretching in her ass wide open, and the stilettos locked on her feet. She moved around the kitchen with graceful efficiency, looking like a sex goddess built for one purpose, and her scent carried the quiet, confident satisfaction of a woman who knows exactly what she is and who she belongs to.

When she finished, I ordered her into the endure pose while I inspected her work. I knew it was fine, but she needed the extra hit of power exchange, so I gave it to her.

She’d known what the pose was when I ordered her into it at my house, months earlier, but once out of high protocol, she’d informed me it isn’t actually in the books. Little did she know, this made it even more fun for me to order her into it.

I took my time inspecting the kitchen — every appliance, every cabinet, every inch of counter while she held the position with her legs and feet burning. Her scent told me the plug shifted with every small balance adjustment, and I let the silence stretch until the strain and burn deepened past discomfort into pain, until her thighs were trembling and her only focus was fighting to hold the position.

Finally, I ordered, “Upstairs, my obedient little fuckslave. Center yourself on your bed and grab your ankles. I’ll be up shortly.”

Her scent was heavenly when I walked into the room five minutes later, her cunt beautifully exposed. I climbed onto the bed and drove right into her — the wait had more than done the job of preparing her.

Her hole was damned tight at first, and I loved forcing it open, thrusting into her without mercy, savoring every inch of resistance while her body had no choice but to take the violence I inflicted. Once I’d worked myself deep, I kept going, pounding hard, and so deep the heavy plug in her ass fought me for space. The dual stretch made her whimper and clench. Tears slipped down her temples, but her scent told me she was right on the edge, desperate to come, holding it back until she got permission.

She came barely a second after I ordered her first orgasm, and I watched it tear through her. By the third, she was openly sobbing out those soft, broken sounds I love while her cunt spasmed and clenched around me in helpless pulses — and I pounded her without mercy. Her scent was full of arousal, submission, with the pain threading through below. I breathed it in like oxygen, soaking in the sounds of her sobs, and her pleas for the mercy I never granted. Eventually, I allowed more orgasms, ordering them when I could tell she was so close she wasn’t sure she could hold onto them.

I edged her before the fifth, pulling her back from the brink and then pushing her back to desperation again and again before I finally drove her to the fucking apex and ordered it — and then didn’t let her come down from it for-fucking-ever.

When the last of it finally tore through her, she was shaking, wrecked, and three levels past exhausted — but her cunt still milked my cock even completely spent, the spasms rippling through her as painful aftershocks.

Only when those greedy little muscles finally quit, when even her cunt surrendered, I pulled out, came across her stomach, and rubbed it into her skin while she watched me with glassy eyes.

But I didn’t give her more than a few minutes to catch her breath before I had her up and wrapped in a blanket. I settled her in a chair near her metal firepit while I lit a fire — I’d prepared the logs and kindling earlier, so it didn’t take long before she was in my lap and no longer needed the blanket.

We sat under the stars and the moon for hours, talking about nothing and everything. I kept one hand on her, needing the contact, feeling the clock running down on the time we had left.