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“You’re so pretty wearing my marks, Ruthie. Does the ice feel good, baby? Does it make my marks burn hotter?” he asked.
Ruthie was so focused on the tactile sensations, the differences between the heat and ice, she couldn’t answer—her mind had retreated and she was a creature of pure feeling.
A sharp tap on her ass, and she was reminded of her situation. “Yes!”
Her response was guttural, her voice ruined by her attempts to hold in her screams of ecstasy. Her pussy wept, and his fingers swiped through her wetness, dragging it through her cleft until he swirled it up and over her anus.
Every move he made seemed designed for her pleasure. There was pain, but it passed too quickly for her to embrace, not giving her the chance to find her mind in the hot mess he’d made of her body.
“You want more?”
“Yes,” she answered.
A harder tap now, and she did give voice to her scream, the combination of his earlier marks with this new, more powerful strike bringing tears to her eyes. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.
“I would like to see you against my cross, Ruthie—the cream of your skin against the crimson of my cross would be lovely. I’d love to see you hanging in my swing, your thighs spread and red from my flogger, your body presented for me to use any way I see fit. Tell me, Ruthie, is your mind quiet?”
There was something she was missing, but the pleasure had obliterated her options to form a coherent response. Her body ruled her.
“I thought so, little sub,” he said before he placed another, single kiss at the top of her hip.
Her body writhed. She did her best to remain still. Having no idea what to expect, Ruthie waited.
“Remember,” he said softly. “You asked for this. Stand up, Ruthie, slowly. Call to me if you need help.”
It took her long minutes. Her legs were numb and her back was relaxed. Her muscles screamed in protest, her skin on fire, but she managed to rise to her knees. “I need help,” she told him.
Nothing. Then she remembered. “I need help, Sir.”
He was there instantly, holding her close as he lifted her to a standing position and waited for her to find her balance. Her head rested against his breastbone, and Ruthie inhaled, finding comfort in his scent.
“Raise your hands, sub.” His voice was cold now and filled with intent.
Unease skated down Ruthie’s spine and she wondered at that intent. What did he have planned? She raised her hands, wanting back the comfort of oblivion from moments ago.
Something slid over her wrists and down to mid-forearm. Leather cuffs, their softness a promise, the cold chain they were attached to a warning. Tobias tightened the cuffs until they were secure and then told her to wrap her hands around the chain.
Once he had both arms in the cuffs he stepped away. He sighed, and she had no idea what to make of that. Again, she wished for her sight.
“The chain allows you to lower your arms enough that you won’t fatigue too quickly. It is wrapped through a bolt hole in the ceiling. I want you to hold on, Ruthie. This ride will be rough.”
Another slide of leather on leather, and Ruthie tensed.
“You’re waiting for pain, Ruthie, and that tells me you have no idea what you’re doing here. Do you not trust me? Have I ever given you anything but pleasure?” he asked.
She remained silent.
“Answer me!”
She startled, the sound of the anger in his voice making her own rise.
“You’ve given me nothing but pleasure, Sir. But you said you want to break me, and I wonder, Sir, if that’s what you’re planning,” she answered.
“I want to break you so all you know is me, but that’s not fair to you, Ruthie. Because what lives inside of me shouldn’t be visited on anyone. Spread your legs, sub.”
Ruthie spread her legs and waited.
