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He returned moments later with a long red taper candle, matches, a vibrator, and two bowls. He filled one of the bowls with water, then returned, arranging everything carefully on the table.
.. . He placed one of the chairs at the foot of the bed and pulled her to the end so that her legs dangled over the edge. She held her breath as he lit the candle and tilted it inches above her stomach. A hiss of air escaped her lips as the hot wax landed a drop at a time. A sharp stinging burn, that ebbed as the circle of wax dried and hardened.
She jerked as if by the movement she could escape the pain, and the first few bits of wax dried in long slivers. He shook his head at her and peeled the strips of wax from her body, dropping them into the empty bowl. He rested his hand firmly on her stomach.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, “You want me to be still?”
A nod.
He removed his hand and let another drop of wax fall from the candle. He held it close to her skin, and she felt the warmth from the flame before the burning wax hit her flesh. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t move. The wax dried in a little round dot. She let out a shaky breath, and he repeated the action.
Over and over. She closed her eyes, focusing on breathing, crying, but not screaming because it might cause her to move. The little burning points of wax were being left close to one another, as if a pattern were forming on her skin, but it was so gradual she couldn’t make it out. There was a puff of breath as the candle was extinguished, and she let out a shaky sigh.
She heard a buzzing and then he’d shoved the vibrator inside her. Her muscles clenched as it pulsed through her. She remained still, afraid of disobeying him until he took her hips and coaxed her to move and respond to the vibrations.
The pain was forgotten, but then he lit another match and was dripping the wax over her nipples, continuing to encourage her to move. He’d worked her into a frenzy, but she wasn’t so past rational thought she didn’t know what he wanted from her.
He wanted her to come while he hurt her. The idea both repulsed and excited her as her body pushed around and reinterpreted the pain from the wax. She screamed as she came, her eyes shooting open. He snuffed out the candle and laid it on the little table, then pushed the vibrator deeper inside, holding it in place, forcing her to come for him again.
He pointed to her stomach and she looked down. Where he’d wanted her to remain very still, she saw he’d spelled out a word with wax. Mine.
She nodded, “Yes Master, I’m yours.”
The verbal surrender was just one more piece of her that now belonged to him. He carefully flecked the pieces of wax off her body and dipped a washcloth into the bowl of water. The water was cool as he gently dragged it over her skin.
He wrung the cloth out over her belly and chased the trails of water with his tongue. She watched as he stood and retreated into the bathroom again. She lay there, her legs spread wide just as he’d positioned her, as the vibrator pushed her toward another orgasm.
He returned a few moments later and withdrew the toy.
“Please . . . no . . . I need . . . ” She was babbling. She’d been so close. She shut her mouth and looked away from him. He’d already made her come several times that day. What was wrong with her that she needed more? She didn’t care how she ached for it, she wouldn’t beg again.
Her body jerked at a new sensation and she looked down to see him back in the chair, a razor and the bowl of water in hand, shaving her. She was so sensitive. It was maddening to have the razor gently brushing her skin so close to her clit.
When her pussy was bare, he ran the cloth over her sensitive flesh. She arched up to meet him, a small whimper leaving her mouth. He wrung the cloth out again, letting the droplets of cool water trickle down her slit.
Then his wicked tongue was licking up the drops, dipping inside her, and lapping at her clit. He held her ass cheeks with his hands, pulling her up to him, as if she were a banquet he couldn’t get enough of.
She came for him again, moaning “Master,” because it was the only name she knew. He slid up her body and into her, pounding her into the mattress.
She screamed.
“Please,” She didn’t want to go back to the cell, but the way he fucked her, with her back still raw and hurt, was too much. “Please let me be on top.” She was too afraid to say no.
He stopped, concern on his face, as if he’d gotten caught up and forgotten her back. “Shhhh,” he whispered, and flipped them so she was on top.
“Thank you.” She rode him, and he gently stroked her back until he came inside her . . .
He went to the closet,then he tossed me a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt that saidbite mein bright red letters on it. I found I was disappointed that he hadn’t. I dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what I was supposed to say or do.
“Master?”
He looked up.
“When you whipped me back there . . . was that . . . punishment?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes burning straight into me. I swallowed hard. I’d suspected as much. The cell was punishment; the whipping was because he enjoyed it. Got off on it.
“I’m sorry for what I did that day,” I said quietly. I didn’t have to elaborate.
