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“Please…”
“I own you. I own this cunt. I own your orgasm. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Master,” I whisper.
Every time I say that word, he becomes more aggressive, more intent on pulling my pleasure from me.
“Now,” he growls.
I didn’t realize I was waiting for permission to come until he granted it. I buck harder against him, my scream filling the bathroom as the contractions of my orgasm overtake me.
After a few moments he pulls his hand from the water. “You didn’t scream that loud in the dungeon.”
He helps me out of the tub, dries me off, and puts a salve and bandages on my back, then he tucks me into bed and leaves the room.
He returns about fifteen minutes later with dinner from the cafeteria. Phyllis made Lasagna and homemade garlic bread tonight. She probably made salads as well but Brian must have decided to leave the rabbit food for the rabbits, choosing instead to bring us both the heartier fare.
We eat quietly, and watch a little TV. Then he pulls me into his arms and we sleep.
