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Christian emerged from the bathroom after only a minute or two. Somehow, despite everything I had experienced, all the degrading submission I had undergone, the feeling of spreading myself that way, waiting for my master to arrive and mold me to his sexual will again, had still made my face burn. He had taken all his clothes off, I noticed with a hard swallow; I hadn’t even noticed as I got up from the fucking table in my detached, floating state, and seemed to move on a cloud, or maybe in a cloud, from the living room to my bed. I looked at him, unfathomably gorgeous, hard in every imaginable sense and yet with a soft, even tender expression on his face as he gazed back at me. The sheer imposition of this dominant, hairy, muscular, utterly naked man on the view of my bedroom took my breath away. I felt, to my startled surprise, tears forming in the corners of my eyes—not of shame, let alone of fear… not really even of regretful submission.
Of joy, I realized after a moment. I didn’t think I’d ever actually cried tears of joy before. If I had tried to imagine, just last week, what could make me weep with happiness, I would never, ever have supposed it would involve bring dressed in naughty lingerie—minus panties—or holding my knees back and wide to reveal my sealed pussy… or seeing the man who had just deflowered my ass approaching with his enormous, rigid cock swaying menacingly at me.
Christian smiled, and the contentment on his face, the satisfaction to have claimed me as his property, drew a sob from my chest. For an instant his forehead clouded, as if my tears mystified him. Then the smile got wider, and I knew that once again he had, apparently, read my mind.
Or… maybe it didn’t involve telepathy at all. Maybe it had to do with his skill as a storyteller—as the Academy Award-winning producer of the stories that thrilled audiences worldwide. He knew my story better than I did, even the parts yet to come. He knew the beats and the laugh lines and the parts where a girl like me might feel overwhelmed with happiness in what would seem, in another kind of tale, an utterly inappropriate moment.
Slowly, he approached, until he stood next to the bed, gazing down into my eyes. My lips parted. My breath caught in my throat; the expression on his face suddenly seemed so dominant and so hungry, as if my tears had brought out not only his satisfaction but also his aggression. My heart started to beat wildly in my chest as Christian began to lean down, slowly coming closer to me. He put his hands on the bed and he lowered his face toward mine, hunger and happiness seeming to mingle so thoroughly in his eyes that I could only lie there, eyes wide and mouth open.
My master kissed me tenderly and slowly, but somehow at the same time very dominantly. The position of his face over mine, the relationship between our two postures, the simple fact that as I received his affectionate lips, I burned down below to have my other, more intimate lips opened at last—all of it made me feel like Christian’s kiss, as soft as it felt, also represented once again my servitude as his pampered fuck toy.
I whimpered up into his mouth as my tongue responded submissively to his, as if I could beg that way, wordlessly, for his cock inside me. I wanted it in my aching sheath above all, but that whining little noise meant, I understood, that I would be grateful for his hardness wherever my keeper chose to possess me.
When he broke the kiss at last, he moved his mouth to my ear. I trembled, sure that he would issue some horribly degrading command, or even tell me that he had decided my pussy would remain shut… for a few days more, or forever… that he meant from now on only to have me in my mouth and in my bottom, to ensure that I never feel more pleasure than a wayward girl like me should feel.
Instead he murmured, “I’m falling in love with you, Rebel. Just thought you should know that.”
“Oh,” I breathed. “Oh… sir. Me… me too.”
Christian pulled his head back again, and raised it up to look down at me from three or four inches away. His smile had turned radiant.
“That makes me very happy, Leah,” he said simply, and kissed me again. He lifted his face after only a moment this time, and I saw that his expression had become more serious. “That doesn’t change how much discipline you need, or how willing I am to give it to you. I want to make sure you understand that.”
I swallowed hard and shook my head. Fear and need had flooded my body and taken away my words. “I…” I tried, and couldn’t get any more out. I nodded, thinking how confusing my response must be, and then I shook my head again, making it worse. “I… I know, sir,” I finally managed to whisper as I watched his gorgeous, intelligent eyes take my whole response in.
“That’s good,” he said softly, the smile returning and making my chest feel light again. “That’s very good.”
He stood up fully. My eyes went straight to his huge, jutting cock, and a wave of heat rose into my cheeks when I remembered that a good bed girl—according to my master’s lessons, anyway—knew to keep her eyes there and only there. Between Christian’s thighs rose the symbol of his dominance, the tool he used to enjoy me according to his rights as my keeper.
He moved around to the foot of the bed. I thought he would climb atop it but instead he dropped the vial of solvent onto the covers and reached out for me. I let out a startled cry as he grabbed me firmly and a little painfully around my spread upper thighs and drew me firmly toward him, down the bed until my backside protruded two or three inches over the edge, and I looked up at my master between my spread knees and my hovering calves, my feet still in the pretty green heels.
Then I thought he would pick up the solvent and unseal my pussy at last. Again Christian had a different idea of what should happen next, though: he reached out with his right hand, between my legs, to my little breasts in their lacy bra. As he began to play with my stiff nipples through the thin, scratchy fabric, he used his left hand to rub the tip of his erection over the seam that joined my outer labia.
“Oh… God… oh… sir…” I breathed the words, my eyes closed, each one coming out on a panting, desperate exhalation.
He worked his fingers under the lace of the bra and took my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I felt my forehead crease as I tried to raise my head, desperate for the shameful sight of his hard cock again, moving over the place Christian owned so thoroughly. Without the pillow to prop up my head I could only get a brief glimpse of the head of my master’s penis, rising up over the place my needy clit lay covered and deprived of its full, wanton range of sensation.
My head dropped back to the mattress and I looked up into Christian’s eyes, hoping he would understand that I couldn’t see his cock, and so I couldn’t keep my eyes where they belonged, but I still needed to seehim. His eyes rose from the intimate places between my thighs and my ass-cheeks, so lewdly spread and offered to him. I saw his gaze narrow when our eyes met, and I bit my lip with a little whimper, sure that my keeper had just saved up the offense of looking him in the eye at this crucial moment.
But the corner of his mouth went up, and my heart felt light—if I had to have a spanking for looking at his gorgeous face, said my gloriously insane mind, maybe it was worth it.
“I’m waiting for a single word, Rebel,” Christian said softly.
He pinched my nipple more firmly, for a long moment, and then let go. I cried out in discomfort and arousal, my back arching with the sensation.
“Oh, God,” I whispered as I felt myself flow, down there, yet again. The wetness of my need, trickling out of the little hole at the bottom of my closed pussy lips brought awareness of another, even more embarrassing trickle: Christian’s seed, leaking from my newly deflowered anus. I felt my face get as warm as my pussy as I kept gazing up at him and watched him look down, his smile getting a little wider at what he had obviously also noticed.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew the word.
“Please, sir,” I begged. “Please… please open me… and… and…”
Christian’s smile had gotten big enough to show his gleaming teeth. My heart began to pound in my chest. My voice fell to a whisper as I decided I had to say the only truly appropriate word for the arrogant, brutal, degrading treatment I could no longer pretend I didn’t crave.
“Useme… sir.”
For a moment Christian’s lips curved even further up, and then something else seemed to take over. An inner animal, maybe… a wolf or a lion… or just an ancient, masculine spirit of the aggression that runs through all of nature. I gasped at the overwhelming combination of sexual arousal and mental, emotional understanding that rose from my chest, somehow, into my brain: my story, my dark, wanton, dirty, shameful story… its connection to the story of… well, ofeverything. Nature. The world. Life itself.
I felt Christian step backwards a little, removing his hand from my breast, leaving my lacy bra in disorder, my nipples showing with terrible immodesty—though I almost giggled at the idea of that tiny embarrassment, as compared to the way I pulled my nylon-encased knees back still further, showed my naughtiest places even more obscenely, wanting to demonstrate to my keeper how well I could learn my lesson.
