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“Good,” he rumbled, his mouth close to her ear. “Suffer for me, slave. Suffer for your Master.”
His words were sexy, in a fantasy kind of way. But was it a fantasy for him? Or did he really believe she wanted to become a slave?Didshe want that? Could she ever achieve the level of training necessary? Was it even something you could train for? Or did you have to be born that way, and training only brought your natural inclinations to the fore?
He gave each nipple a sharp twist, and all thoughts tumbled from Hannah’s brain as she winced in pain.
“I can’t,” she whimpered, trying to squirm away from him. He easily held her in place with his thighs, however, and his grip remained tight on her tortured nipples.
“Of course you can,” he growled. “You just need to let go. To surrender control to me. Once I feel that surrender, I will let you go.”
A protest rose instantly in Hannah’s throat, but when she opened her mouth, it died away. She could get away from him if she really wanted to. But it would ruin everything and disappoint him. And it would be quitting.
“Once I feel that surrender, I will let you go.”
She relaxed against his hard body as best as she could, though her jaw was clenched tight with tension. After a moment, mercifully, he released his pinching grip as promised.
“That’s better,” he crooned into her ear. “You please me.”
He circled her nipples with his fingers, slowly widening the circles until he cupped her breasts in his large hands. After a while, one hand traveled past the slope of her breast to her stomach as his teeth scraped lightly against her neck in a lazy caress.
“What is it you want, Hannah?” he murmured. He nipped at her earlobe as his hand traveled lower, and lower still. “Hmm? Do you want this?” He cupped her sex, his fingers dancing over her swollen labia with the proprietary touch of someone who understood his own power.
Unable to help herself, Hannah leaned back into his hard, warm body as he slid a finger inside her, sending a spasm of pleasure through her core. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “Yes, Sir. Yes, please.” She held on to the “s” as he ground his palm against her clit while his fingers moved inside of her. His cock was hard as a rod of steel against her lower back.
All at once, his hand fell away. Before Hannah could offer even a whimper of protest, he rose to his feet in the tub, pulling her upright along with him. “Bath time’s over,” he said gruffly.
Lifting her as easily as if she were a child, he set her on the thick bath rug beside the tub. A moment later, he, too, climbed out. He stood before her like a god, water streaming down his big, strong body, his cock like a divining rod pointing directly at her.
“Dry me off, slave,” he commanded. “There are towels there in the linen closet.” He pointed an imperious finger.
Hannah’s brain skittered and careened inside her head like a pinball as it tried to process her intense physical arousal, her abject terror at what this man with his huge erection expected from her and her confusion at his abrupt change in demeanor from sexy Dom to bossy Master.
Pushing her tumultuous thoughts aside, Hannah scurried to the closet and pulled out two thick, white towels. Setting one on the counter,she shook out the other and started to wrap it around her body.
“What do you think you’re doing, slave?” Mason barked. “You dry your Master before yourself. Drop that towel at once.”
Hannah almost pointed out the stupidity of this, since she’d do a better job if she wasn’t dripping and chilled. It was like when you were on an airplane during an emergency—you put your mask on first before helping others.
But one look at Mason’s expression made her drop the towel as ordered. Fresh towel in hand, she moved toward him. Closing her eyes a moment, she channeled one of her romance novel heroines. She existed in that moment to serve her Master in whatever manner pleased him. What better way to show her submission than to put his comfort before her own? And, come on—it was no hardship to dry this man’s hard, strong body.
Kneeling in front of Mason, she ran the towel over his long, muscular legs. When she got to his groin, she couldn’t stop the flush of heat that washed over her face and chest. His cock was thick and hard, the balls heavy beneath it. He smelled good, too, and she had a sudden, nearly irresistible compulsion to bury her nose in that tender spot between his groin and inner thigh.
Blushing furiously, she ran the towel over his genitals, daring to glance up at him as she did so. Mason stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes burning holes in her.
Averting her gaze, she got to her feet. She dried his massive chest and then moved behind him to dry his muscular back and gorgeous ass. Some people looked better in clothes, others naked. Mason definitely fell into the second category. He was a fucking Adonis.
“Good enough,” he announced abruptly. He turned to face her. “Remember that going forward. Slaves always serve their Masters before themselves.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said dutifully.
“Now, it’s your turn.” Mason grabbed the towel from the floor. “Stand with legs shoulder-width apart, hands on your head.”
Hannah assumed the position. She closed her eyes as he moved around her, toweling her dry with surprising gentleness. He took his time between her legs. Her apparently insatiable clit immediately perked up, greedy for the attention. When he was done, he ran his hands along her sides.
It tickled, and Hannah twisted away, giggling involuntarily.
“Stand still and stay in position,” Mason snapped.
Hannah pressed her lips together to keep the retort that wanted to escape from doing so. She would have liked to lower her arms. She was suddenly exhausted from the very long day.
