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He kissed her for a while, his fingers playing over her skin. He pinched and tortured her nipples, one and then the other, until she whimpered pleas into his mouth. He drove fingers into her pussy, avoiding her clitoris. He wanted to keep her unsatisfied for a while.
He put his fingers to her mouth and let her lick them clean. Then he dipped them into his glass and painted her nipples with wine. He sucked off the burgundy liquid, worrying the tender peaks between his teeth until she struggled, pushing him away. He lowered her back to the floor with a tsk.
“Hands behind your neck,” he ordered.
“It hurts!”
He gave her a warning look. Her eyes filled with tears. “It hurts, Master. Please...”
“I know,” he said. “Now, hands behind your neck.”
Slowly, she raised her arms and laced her fingers at the back of her neck, a position that thrust her breasts out even more. He flicked each nipple once or twice, and went for the clamps. She was so afraid of them. She shuddered, making begging sounds up until the moment he applied them and she realized it was all for naught. She took deep, gasping breaths, so the delicate silver chain between the clamps slid across her skin.
“Go lie on the bed,” he said. “Lie on your back, and keep your hands clasped behind your neck.”
He nudged her in the right direction. She looked like one big cringe, which wasn’t a bad thing. From the way she walked across the room, the tension in her hips, he knew she was still on the way to orgasm, simmering in her cunt and breasts. Her nipples, before he clamped them, had been hard as little stones. His succulent coccinelle, midnight dark and totally unique.
Theo let her lie on the bed a while and suffer the bite of the clamps. Finally he went to her, parting her legs. He was already hard again, damn her, but he would last longer this time. He pushed open her pussy lips and kissed her at the apex of her thighs, licking roughly across her clit. She went instantly tense, arching against him. “Oh, Master, please...” she moaned. One more kiss and he left her, bereft and disappointed. Juicy and hot. He crossed to the bathroom to get a condom. She knew what that meant. Now that she was on the pill, they didn’t use them for vaginal sex. Her begging sighs turned to wide-eyed distress.
He applied a thin coat of lube to what was already on the condom. He’d trained her not to expect any more. She was taking those deep breaths again as he approached the bed, leading with his fully erect shaft. “Master, please--”
“If you’re not going to ask me to fuck your ass, then hush.”
“But--”
“Hush.”
She gave a lovely whimper. “It hurts when you fuck me there.”
“It’s not going to hurt as much as what comes after.” He took her legs and raised them up, bracing her ankles against his shoulders. Her whining rose in volume as he prodded against her tight back hole. He entered just a little. “Oh, please. Master--” Her hands came down and her hips bucked up, a pointless attempt at escape. “Please, I don’t like it.”
He silenced her with a look. “Perhaps not. But I like it. Master wants to fuck your asshole. Put your hands behind your neck.” He gazed at her, waiting. He wouldn’t force her. Eventually she’d give in, submit. He knew the harder it was for her to do the things he asked, the more she enjoyed it when he did them. He gave her clamps a yank. “Be a good girl, and Master will let you come with his cock in your ass.”
Slowly, so slowly, she returned her hands to their position and relaxed her hips. He put a hand on either side of her, positioning her for his entry, pinning her so she couldn’t get away. She cried then in earnest, panicked, fearful. She always cried, but he paid her no mind. It was okay for her to be afraid, as long as she didn’t fight him or try to get away.
He advanced again, entering her slowly, looking down to watch her tiny hole stretch around him. Her crying rose in intensity. He grasped her legs to increase her feelings of panic, her feeling of being trapped, at the same time he made soothing sounds to calm her down. He pushed in and out, little trespasses building up to a greater invasion.
Ah, she was so hot and tight. She was clenching him in her nervousness, but then she relaxed by slow degrees. Her arms, tight against her head, melted back onto the bed. He pushed in a little deeper, then pulled out again. Her whole body shook with the effort to contain him, to give up so much control. He pressed on, halfway, then all the way, in and out. He fucked her with a deliberately slow pace, forcing her to experience the sensation of taking every inch, again and again.
For him, it was deep, preternatural gratification. Not just the feel of her tight ass massaging his cock, but the knowledge of her surrender, her capitulation to an act that terrified her. As her legs relaxed, he leaned forward and played lazily with her pussy. Her cries transformed by small degrees into moans of pleasure as she bucked her clit against his palm.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He pulled the chain between her breasts to get her attention. Her sex-glazed eyes finally focused on him. “I want you to feel good. I want you to come, and then, when you’re exhausted and drained, when you have no defenses, you’re going to take ten strokes of the cane.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“Why do I ever do any of the things I do to you? Because I want to.” It was also partly because she’d gone to dinner with Wayne, but he wouldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t think it was fair, and in truth it wasn’t. But he could do anything he wanted to, by agreement. This was training, after all.
He watched her face, watched her try to balance her knowledge of the coming punishment with the ecstasy he was wreaking on her body. He loved her like this, distraught, uncomfortable. Completely disabled by lust. “Does it feel good?” he prompted. “Do you enjoy having your ass fucked?”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice was docile and resigned. And shaky. He palmed her clit again, resulting in an urgent plea for satisfaction. He fucked her deeper, quickening his pace. His hips banged against the back of her thighs. She dug her heels into his shoulders, arching her back to seek more of his cock, more of his touch. His orgasm was building like a wave inside him, slow to gather but converging to higher and higher heights. The pleasure would ebb and then roll over him with even more intensity.
“Oh, God,” he groaned, staring down at her. His bad, bad girl was thrusting against him, her hands still obediently clasped behind her neck. He could tell by her voice--and the uncontrolled movement of her hips--that she would come soon. He jerked the chain, eliciting a little shriek of pain from her, and drove into her hard and fast. When she came, clamping around him, the wave in his pelvis crested, shooting spasms through his cock and balls. He grabbed her hips and drove in to the hilt. She was his beautiful fucktoy. His living doll. His slave.
Her legs drooped, limp now against his chest. He leaned down to remove the clamps. Her ass clenched around him in reaction to the pain as the blood returned to her sensitive nipples. Only then did he withdraw slowly and guide her legs to the floor. He let her rest while he went to the bathroom and washed up. He felt so powerful, so satisfied--and he wasn’t even finished with her yet.
He took a sip of wine before he returned to her sated figure. She was alert enough now to remember she had a caning coming, and her face reflected the anxiety she felt. Kelsey feared having her ass taken, but she always ended up
enjoying it. In the case of the cane though--she never enjoyed that. It was good for her though, to submit to things that weren’t for her pleasure, but his.
“Come.” He gestured to the floor at his feet. She was already whimpering. She was too wise by now to beg; he added strokes if she did that. “Head down, ass in the air. The usual position.” She started to arrange herself but he pulled her head up by the hair.
“Yes, Master,” he prompted.
“Yes, Master,” she said through tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, massaging her nape. “I haven’t started yet.”
“Because it’s going to hurt.”
“Yes, it is. What an obedient girl you are, to take it anyway.”
He released her and she curled down into the position he’d taught her, with her forehead on the floor, her knees together and her ass presented for punishment. He let her curl her arms beneath her chest because it was still so hard for her not to reach back and cover herself. Eventually, she’d learn to leave them resting beside her head. He left her there to shiver and quake while he went to the closet for the cane. It was rattan, nice and sting-y.
Before he began, he tapped it lightly against each cheek. She jerked, her body tight with tension. “Count for me, girl.”
He gave her the first stroke, and she let loose with a cry before she managed to say, “One!”
He laid two and three above and below the first one, then four and five beside those. This was the point when she used to collapse and roll over, begging for respite. Now she only cried into her hands, pressing her knees together even tighter and curling her toes. “Six! Seven! Oh...”
He paused a moment, giving her time to collect herself. He’d raised seven lovely pink welts across her bottom. “Three more,” he said over her broken cries. “Three more and we’ll be done.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Put your hands beside your head for the last three. Flat on the floor. Don’t move them.” He tapped the side of her thigh. “Ass up. It’s not over yet.”
