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He swats me again and then jams a different spot in my other hip, making me jump in the opposite direction. Two swats, another pressure point. Three. Then a delicious pull on my nipple that makes me groan. He keeps the rhythm uneven, unexpected, so I never know when the pleasant warmth and the growing pleasure will be jarred by the blaze of nerves. In just a few minutes, he has me sweating and my legs trembling.
He touches that wicked thumb below my ear in a spot that makes me flinch my head around toward him. “There it is.”
Lazily, he swats me again, stroking his palm over my heated flesh.
I know what he means. My head is fluffy, stuffed with clouds of cotton. He runs his hands over me, soothing and slapping and stroking, spreading sensation through every nerve, and it’s all I can do to hold myself up.My head’s going to float away.
He gives me an amused smile. “No, it’s still very much attached.”
I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but sometimes when the bliss and pain begin to blend together, the walls in my head come down too. The doors and shutters and locks that society insists we keep in place because we’re so civilized fly open. “It’s dark in here.”
The light is very much on in the room, but he nods solemnly as though he knows exactly what I mean.
He pinches my clit between his fingers and squeezes. Hard. Pain blossoms, a colorful explosion that words can’t describe. Most men don’t have a clue how to touch me, but he drives the pain higher, unafraid of my response. He knows it hurts.
He wants it to hurt.
And he doesn’t flinch away from it right before it gets good.
Heat, liquid fire, sweet molasses, the pleasure pours up through my body until I can taste it in my mouth. I shudder with release, riding the waves so high I don’t know if I can ever come back.
I don’t want to come back.
* * *
I losetrack of time and place. It doesn’t matter any longer. My arms and shoulders throb with the effort of holding myself up. His hands roam my body, lifting me up, dropping me low, drawing out a scream, a sob, a plea.
“I didn’t know it could be like this.”
I think I said it out loud, but he doesn’t respond. Is he still here? Has he slipped away, or did I fall asleep?
I struggle up through the waves trying to suck me under. Awake, alert. I open my eyes and groan. I hurt, I hurt all over, a glorious symphony that pulses through my veins with every heavy throb of my heart. He holds my chin in his hand, squeezing so hard I can almost feel his fingerprints in my bone.
“There you are.” He relaxes his grip on my chin but keeps my face up so I can see him. I don’t think I could hold my head up without him and I want to see. I need to see.
See what?
I blink, trying to remember, trying to focus my mind through the fog.
He jerks on my hands and my arms suddenly fall free, heavy like a ton of bricks. Without his help, I would’ve sunk to the floor. He gathers me up in his arms, cradling me against his chest, and I snuggle against him, happy and content.
Gently, he lays me on the bed, and I smile up at him. Now, at last, he’s going to take me. I’ll have him inside me, moving in me, claiming me. I endured the pain, came so many times I don’t think I’d be able to move from this spot even if a tornado threatened to take the roof off the house. I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
I snicker, trying to decide how I would explain that to my family.
But instead of lowering his body to mine, he attaches my wrist to a chain. I follow the silver links over to the corner poster, watching as he pulls it tight enough that I’m not going to move from this spot. Then he does the same to the other wrist, spreading me flat on my back.
“What’s so funny?”
I try to remember. Oh yeah. “I was thinking about trying to explain to everyone tomorrow why I’m walking funny.”
He chuckles, leaning down over me so I can see the flash of his teeth. He fluffs the pillows, carefully adjusting them so I’m propped up enough to see down the length of my body, although my shoulders strain when I lean up too far. “Do you think you’ll actually be able to walk?”
“Probably not.”
He rubs his mouth against my lips, sharing his breath with me. “That’s what I thought.”
All too quickly, he leaves, and I groan with loss. I’m starting to feel each ache and dull throb of stretched and used muscles. Coming down is always hard, and no one has ever taken me as high as he has before. I want his arms around me, his chest against my face, his cock buried inside me, the final pulse of his release spreading through my body. It doesn’t matter how many times I came tonight—the Master still hasn’t, and I feel that lack sorely.
