AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He continued to watch her reactions as he pulled up even farther. Her breaths were forced out in little bursts, but she never protested.
She didn’t gasp until he released her. “Sexy, Maggie.” He stroked her pussy, not surprised to find her moist. Damn, he wanted to take her hard, now. But he’d promised her an orgasm or two, and he intended to deliver.
Telling himself the wait would make it better for him, he moved between her legs, leaving the flogger where it was. “I’m going to move back the part of the table where your butt is resting.”
She moved, ineffectually—his restraints prevented her from moving more than a fraction of an inch.
Within moments, her bottom had nothing beneath it. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t escape his lash. “Your damp cunt is a beautiful sight, Maggie.”
David moved away to take off his clothes then picked up the flogger. “I want you to cry.”
“I won’t.”
“There’s not a part of you from the chest down that will escape me,” he told her. The ability to mark all her skin was one of the reasons he favoured a flogger. He didn’t have to be as cautious as he was when utilising a crop or cane. He just needed to be careful about the distance and power he used.
He started with the soles of her feet, using the leather lightly. She groaned just a little.
“Ticklish?”
“Not particularly, Mr Tomlinson. That’s just…”
He waited.
“New.”
“And…”
“Ah!”
He studied her reactions. That wasn’t pain on her face, more like confusion.
Before she could become too accustomed, he moved to the front of her feet, including her toes before working on her ankles. He loved to mix things up for his subs, giving them a wide variety of sensations. He didn’t mind staying in one place if he was giving an orgasm, but otherwise, he wanted her entire body sensitised.
He continued with her calves, knees and the fronts of her thighs, flicking his wrist and alternating on each of her legs. He skipped over her pussy and went straight for her stomach.
“Mr Tomlinson,” she protested.
“In due time,” he promised.
“Fuck,” she said.
As much as possible, since there was no support for her bottom and she was partially suspended, she tilted her pelvis, as if that would change his mind.
“You’re submitting to my pleasure,” he reminded her.
“I thought we were getting to an orgasm.”
“You’re not nearly ready enough,” he said.
She gritted her teeth.
“You’re adorable when you’re mad,” he said.
“I am not adorable,” she insisted.
He lashed her belly.
She cried out. But at least he’d silenced her argument.
“You’ve got a perfect body,” he told her. He loved her softness. He knew she watched her weight, and he’d seen her refuse the pastries that people brought into the office. From what he’d observed, she allowed herself the luxury of an unpronounceable frothy coffee drink only on Fridays. “Made for beatings and sex,” he added.
“I—”
“That’s my opinion and, at the moment, the only one that matters. Say, ‘Yes, Mr Tomlinson’.”
She pursed her lips.
He withheld the lash. “Say it.”
Her exhalation was anything but agreeable or feminine. “Yes, Mr Tomlinson.”
He immediately resumed his attention.
She relaxed her body again, an outward sign of her submission in a way that was considerably more meaningful than any mere words would ever be.
In submission, he’d learnt actions should be more carefully regarded than what was said. People lied all the time, small untruths mainly, as they tried to spare others from hurt or hide their own feelings. In that regard, he supposed, a scene wasn’t much different from any other area of life. Employees and associates, even professionals he hired, often told him what they thought he wanted to hear. But gestures revealed what lay beneath the veneer.
When she either accepted defeat or claimed victory, her entire being lost its tension.
Keeping her off guard, he switched up his pattern. After whipping her ribs, he flogged her arms and shoulders.
