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Tears made her throat tight and her eyes sting.
“Keep a hold of your cunt lips, but now I want you to pull up too.”
She obeyed, pulling up on her labia. Her skin felt stretched and tight.
“Can you feel what that did?”
She did, and more than that, she knew this trick of his. “Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me.”
“It pulls up my clit hood, exposing more of my actual clit.”
“That’s right. You understand this will be quite painful, don’t you?”
“I do, Master Benson.”
“I want it to hurt, because I know you need the pain.”
Tears leaked from her closed eyes, trailing back into the hair at her temples.
“I do, Sir.”
“Are you scared, Mal?”
“Not as much as I should be,” she whispered in a too honest reply.
“What color are you?”
“Green.”
“Green?” He lay the tip of the crop against her clit.
Even that was an intense sensation. She was undeniably physically aroused—she was a masochist, which meant the pussy whipping alone was positive sexual, physical stimulation. But she was also emotionally and intellectually aroused, because of how he was treating her. Using her.
She couldn’t manipulate or negotiate her way out of this situation. Out in the real world, there was almost nothing that Mal couldn’t massage or reorient into a positive outcome. Here she was powerless in all the best ways.
Not completely powerless. And to say she couldn’t manipulate or negotiate didn’t mean that she was in danger. It meant that she had to be wholly and completely honest.
He’d been the one to teach her that kind of honesty, and she knew he wouldn’t allow anything less.
“I’m green,” she assured him softly. “I’m not lying, either to you or to myself. Of course I’m nervous. And it does hurt, it really hurts. But I’m so…I’m so relieved that you’re using me. That you’re demanding total obedience.”
“Relieved.”
Internally, she winced that he’d picked out that word from among everything she’d said. Luckily, he didn’t ask for specifics, because she wasn’t sure she would have been able to fully and honestly explain why relief had been her predominant emotion several times now.
The tip of the crop tapped against the pulled, stretched flesh of her outer labia and fingertips, then flirted with the inner folds, flicking back and forth gently. A few times she tensed, desperately hoping he would slide the crop into her pussy, fuck her with it.
The need to feel something inside her, to be used and penetrated, was pounding through her as if her heart were pumping need along with blood through her veins and arteries.
Again and again the crop tapped gently along the inside of her sex, or flicked around the entrance to her vagina. They were soft gentle sensations, a counterpoint to the tight, uncomfortable stretching from her own hands pulling her pussy lips up and open.
Knowing he was lulling her to relax didn’t prevent it from working. As the minutes passed, her breathing slowed and evened out, her ribs no longer aching as she focused on breathing correctly. Once more inhaling up rather than out, her nipples rubbed against her dress.
Cool air moved through the room—the heating and cooling system must have clicked on. The gentle brush of cold air was making her aware that not only was her pussy on display and open to him, but the position of her legs meant he could undoubtedly see her ass, too. An intimacy that he had yet to draw attention to, but which she now couldn’t stop thinking about.
By the time they were done with the game, she was going to be sexually frustrated to a degree she knew she’d never experienced before and hopefully never would again. Pussy whipping was only the first of their items, each of which was intense. Thinking back over what she’d heard from the other submissives, Mal knew Benson was absolutely right. The overseers hadn’t randomly paired people and letters.
