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She fervently nodded, wishing she could rub her stinging thighs and cursing herself for once again pushing the envelope.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he scolded, tightening his grip in her hair and forcing her to look at him. “Get it through that thick skull of yours, Steph! You can’t pull shit on me.”
His dark eyes seemed to look right through her, and a wave of emotion burned the back of her throat, but she didn’t know if it was from fear, or his severe reprimand.
“You’re not allowed to talk,” he continued sternly, “though I’m sure you can think of a way to apologize and show me you know your place.”
It took her a moment, but she finally understood and began sliding down his body, but still clutching her hair, he made her move slowly. As her face brushed against his jacket, then trousers, she found the fabric amazingly plush, almost comforting, and finally sinking on her knees, she rested her head against his crotch.
“You can be such a brat,” he murmured, his fingers loosening their grip. “Make it up to me. Show me how sorry you are.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, she unzipped his slacks, reached into his boxers, and pulled out his semi-stiff cock, and as she took him in her mouth, an unfamiliar wave of deep satisfaction swept over her.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, stroking her hair as she swirled her tongue around the tip. “That’s my good girl.”
With his praise spurring her on, she tightened her fingers around his shaft, opened her lips, drew him in, and began sucking with gusto. The minutes ticked by, and she became so engrossed in her work she barely heard the muffled chime of his phone.
“I have to answer this. Slow down.”
As he reached into his pocket, she glanced up and watched him read for a moment, then tap a quick reply.
“It’s time for us to go.”
Letting him slip from her mouth, she shuffled back as he pushed himself into his underwear and zipped up his slacks.
But reminded of her place, she remained kneeling, waiting for instructions.
“Good,” he said briskly, gripping her arm and helping her stand up. “It appears you’ve learned your lesson.”
Her eyes met his.
She nodded, then lowered them.
“You can speak again, but I’m picking up a ball gag on my way out. If you speak out of turn or pepper me with questions, you’ll be wearing it all the way home, and possibly longer. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master,” she said softly, momentarily looking back up at him with wide eyes.
She expected him to take her hand and march down the hall, but again he surprised her. Leaning in, he tenderly glided his lips over hers.
“You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you, Master,” she murmured, moving her arms around his neck and hugging him. “I feel so strange.”
“I know you do, and it’s a good thing.”
* * *
In conversations with fellow dominants, Marco had often maintained strong-willed, smart women made the best submissives. Steph validated his belief. Her need to continually test his will would fade over time, but it would never completely go away. It was all part of the decadent game they both loved to play.
But there was a great deal at stake.
Steph’s trust could mean life or death.
Pausing at one of the supply cabinets, he retrieved two gags. One resembled a horse bit, the other the traditional red ball.
“You’ll need your coat,” he declared, opening the door to the dungeon. “Grab it. I’ll wait.”
As she walked hastily inside, he pulled out his phone, sent a quick text, then dropped it back in his pocket.
