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Please, please, let me come.
My thighs start to tremble as I reach the peak. He pulls away. He lifts my legs so my ankles are wrapped around his neck, and the thick head of his erection presses against my opening. I moan as it slides into me.
“Oh, Master.”
He’s so big that I feel the burn of my muscles stretching as he forces his way in. He keeps thrusting, advancing, inch by punishing inch, until the head of his cock is nudging up against my womb.
I squirm impatiently, but he holds me still and makes me wait.
He draws it out, cruelly. Pumping his hips, stretching me, hurting me in the most deliriously wonderful ways. Then withdrawing. Then starting again. Waves of sensation rising and receding.
It’s ecstasy. It’s sweet torment. He’s every bit as amazing as I always dreamed he’d be.
I start to cry, to wail, to beg.
Tears stream down my face as he picks up the pace, slamming into me, balls slapping against the cheeks of my ass.
When he finally lets me come, I scream with pleasure and shock. Wave after wave of orgasm washes over me, drowns me. I am high on sensation, floating in some strange netherworld of unbearable ecstasy.
He groans as he comes, his fingers sinking into my thighs hard enough to bruise. My inner sheath is convulsing, squeezing him, and my legs quiver uncontrollably as orgasm after orgasm rocks my entire body.
“Yes,” he growls. “Yes. So good.”
He withdraws very slowly, and as I lie there, gasping, he trails his fingers down the small of my back. It’s more intimate than sex; it’s a connection between us, an acknowledgment of our delirious connection.
Then suddenly he snatches his fingers away, as if he realized he was being sweet and tender and stopped himself before it could go on too far.
I lie perfectly still and hold on to hope. If I’m really, really good and obedient, perhaps someday he’ll touch me like that again.
Afterward, he puts the thin collar on me and clips a leash to it. He lets me put on a robe, then leads me, stumbling and weak-kneed, down the hall.
We go into his media room to watch television. He sits down in his chair and gestures at me. “Kneel.” I kneel at his feet, and he props them up on me.
I try to shut out the sounds of the television, going tense with the effort. I sing songs in my head and make silent screaming noises. I can’t know about the outside world. There is no outside world for me.
Elizabeth comes into the room. “Nothing for me right now,” Master says. “And I didn’t ask you to come in here. Please don’t bother me when I didn’t summon you.” There’s a moment of silence.
“What?” he snaps.
I sneak a peek, and I see that she’s just staring at him, swaying where she stands. Then she falls to the ground with a thud.
Master pulls his legs off me and runs over to her. I don’t know what I should do, so I just stay crouched on the ground, a silent piece of furniture, as he scoops her up in his arms.
I noticed that she was getting paler and thinner. She’s miserable because I’m here, and she’s not allowed to take it out on me or bully me, so she’s just shrinking in on herself.
I feel no pity at all.
I crouch where I am for a long time, close to an hour, humming loudly to myself to drown out the sound of the television. I need to pee, and my bladder starts to throb with urgency.
When Master finally returns, I have to decide what will make him angrier—if I pee on the floor, or if I ask permission to go to the bathroom. I am very brave, and I risk asking him. He rakes me with a look of contempt. “Of course you can fucking go to the bathroom. What are you, stupid?”
Pain courses through me. His words bruise me so badly.
“Yes, Master, I’m very stupid.” Why can’t I be smart? What should I have done instead? Should I have just peed on the floor?
I hang my head in shame as I hurry to the bathroom, but I also feel an emotion that is something like anger, but it can’t be anger because I would never dare to be angry with Master.
He isn’t being clear about the rules. All I want to do is follow the rules.
