by Linnea May
The red on her cheeks deepens and she shakes her head violently.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop apologizing. Go on.”
Insecurity laces her face when she looks at me now, a deeply rattled self-doubt that doesn’t quite suit her character. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this feeble.
“I think I might like it a little too much,” she admits. “I think I might like you a little too much. And maybe that’s why I feel so... lost. Maybe that’s why I want to know more about you. Maybe...”
Her voice breaks and she lets out a heavy sigh, her eyes trailing up to the ceiling for a moment before she finds the strength to continue.
“Maybe that’s why it hurts so much when you shut me out.”
Her words get to me, more than I’m comfortable admitting.
More than they should.
I’ve never had a problem keeping my puppets at a distance, and I welcomed it when they did the same to me. They danced for me, they showed me sides of themselves that no one else gets to see. We shared a special kind of intimacy together—but it always stayed on a superficial level.
And that was fine.
No, it wasn’t just fine—it was exactly what I needed from them. I needed their trust, I needed them to let go in a way they never could elsewhere, and I needed them to turn a blind eye to certain things. I needed them to do things for me without knowing that they were doing them.
But I also needed them to stay as far away from me as humanly possible under the circumstances.
I should ask the same of Alena, but she is making that very hard at the moment.
Call me weak, call me an idiot—but I won’t apologize for my next move.
She jerks in surprise when I get down from my chair and circumvent the aisle to the other side where she’s standing. Her eyes are wide in question when I place her face between my hands and lean down, planting my lips on hers for a kiss. She only hesitates for a moment before she responds exactly as I want her to, greeting my greedy tongue with hers and engaging in a insatiable dance that speaks of the hunger we share for each other.
I don’t care about being cautious for now. I know I should, but I don’t want to.
Besides, I still need her. I need her to trust me, I need her to feel comfortable and content. I can’t have her doubting and questioning every little thing when the only thing she really needs to do is to be a good girl for me, a devoted little puppet who lets me make her dance the way I want.
And that devotion has to run deep, maybe deeper than it has with any puppet before her.
I break our kiss, meeting her hazy gaze when I say in a low voice, “You’re mine for now. Stop worrying. Stop thinking. You’re not here to think. You’re here for me to enjoy you—and for you to enjoy me.”
My hands dig into her ass and I lift her up, loving the way she wraps her legs around my waist in an instant, the leathery strings dangling around me as she grasps me around my neck.
“Yes, Master,” she coos. “Make me dance.”
Chapter 36
Alena
Our lips never part the whole way up the stairs, and I can feel him grow harder with every step as I voraciously rub myself against his steely length as he carries me inside my bedroom.
With him, I never know what’s coming next. Every single day has been different. There were days when he hardly touched me for hours, only watching me as I performed seemingly mundane tasks. One day, he forbade me to put on any clothes for the entire day and instructed me to lie down at his feet while he did some reading on the sofa downstairs.
He fucked me on the very first day, but then on another day I was forbidden to speak because he decided that my mouth was only good for a different use that day. He fucked my throat too many times to count that day, and sometimes he just slipped between my lips for a moment, only teasing me and denying me his cock just as I got into it and wanted more of him. That was probably the most degrading thing that’s ever been done to me—but by the end of the day, I was so horny and depraved that I would have done anything to be allowed to come.
Not being allowed to talk was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. It was liberating even, stripping away something that I never considered a burden up until then. I was very passive, only a toy to be used at his pleasure, and after just a few hours, I found myself in a trance-like state, following his domineering voice to do whatever he asked of me.
I did well that day. So well that I received a reward in the evening–a reward that entailed more than just the three orgasms he allowed me to have. He cooked for me that evening and he opened a bottle of champagne, even though he declared that there would be no drinking while I was with him.
Pain has only been a modest spice ever since that first day, and I have to admit that I kind of miss it. That spanking shattered a shell I didn’t know I had, cracking me open and ready to receive everything he was willing to give me. I never changed the way I behaved around him, always being my stubborn, sassy self—except for the one day I wasn’t allowed to speak. But somehow, I never spited him enough to deserve a painful punishment like the one on the first day.
A punishment I crave now. A punishment different from the one he tried to force on me this morning.
That’s why my heart is turning in somersaults when we reach the bedroom and he throws me onto the heavy mattress of my canopy bed. I have no way of knowing what ideas are running through his head right now, but I know it must be something special.
Because he has that look on his face. That expression full of ominous promise.
“Take off your thong and spread like a slut for me,” he commands, before turning away from me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching curiously as he walks over to the dresser that not only holds every single piece of clothing I’ve been wearing for the past week, but also every toy or device he has ever used on me. There’s one drawer–the biggest one at the bottom—that locks with an extra key. A key that’s never been handed to me, so I’ve never had a chance to look inside that drawer.
“Now, puppet,” he sneers with his back turned to me, threat dripping from his words.
I do as I’m bid and take off my thong, leaving me only with the bra and the see-through kimono that doesn’t really shield me from his eyes, but it still provides a layer of protection while I’m walking around naked.
I’m always hit with the same blend of humiliation and excitement when he asks me to present myself to him like this, on my back, with my knees up and my bare core exposed to him. Sometimes he intensifies the embarrassment by asking me to spread my lips for him, a notion that always causes me to close my eyes as I try to hide from the shame that comes with this kind of exposure.
I lie on my back, my knees up and legs spread, my arms resting next to me. The strings dangle over the edge of the mattress as I listen to him rummaging through the drawer. My heart jolts when he closes it with a loud slam that echoes through the room and sends shivers down my spine.
“Spread for me, I said.” His voice is approaching as he speaks, and a moment later I see his face above me, his focus between my legs.
My fingers are trembling when I comply by reaching down there, another flood of shame overcoming me when I’m met with my slick arousal. He plays me so well, it’s almost frightening.
Using two fingers, I part my lips for him and my eyes close on instinct.
“You know I don’t like when you do that,” he comments. “But you can keep them closed for now. It might be for the best.”
Met with a sudden shock wave of fear, my eyes fly open, my body still pinned to the bed as my gaze searches for his. But he’s no longer in my field of vision because he’s kneeling before my exposed entrance now, getting ready to do whatever he’s planning to do.
Is he going to hurt me? Why did he say it would be better for me to keep my eyes shut?
Oh, how much I’d love to ask that question, but I know he wouldn’t give me an answer a
nyway.
“Stay like this. Don’t move.”
Yet I flinch when his fingers join mine, pinching my sensitive nub.
I gasp at the sensation, my chest heaving in strong waves as I breathe through whatever is about to happen.
“I swear, Alena, don’t you dare move an inch. You’ll regret it.”
I whimper in response, aware that my mind is already getting the better of me. Whatever he’s about to do doesn’t necessarily have to be painful, but I’m preparing for an agonizing strike nonetheless. I always do that. I always panic before there’s a reason to.
Then again, this time I might have been right to worry, because a moment later I am struck with a pinching pain right around my swollen clit. My fingers twitch, threatening to lose their grip, but he uses his to push them apart again and keep them in place.
“Don’t!” he warns, and it sounds so urgent that I freeze in place.
Cold metal hits my most sensitive area, closing around my clit first, before he pushes it down so that it holds my inner lips in a tight grip. The pain is only momentary and recedes as soon as whatever he attached down there is secured in place. He retreats while my trembling fingers still part my lips, now too scared to let go.
“Beautiful,” he assesses. “How does it feel?”
I shake my head, still confused at what exactly is happening right now. What did he just attach down there? Will it stay if I remove my hand? Will it hurt once I start moving?
“I… I… don’t know,” I utter in response, my entire body shaken by strong tremors.
“You don’t know, huh? How about this?”
A shriek escapes my lips when he caresses my clit with the tip of his finger, barely contacting my wet skin, but the sensation feels ten times more extreme than even the strong vibrator did at times.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, void of any other words or thoughts.
He chuckles darkly and does it again, sending another spark of passion jolting through my core when he presses his finger on my nub. He’s not even moving it, not stroking along or moving in circles, but he threatens to do so.
“What… what is that?” I ask, befuddled.
“That, my dear puppet, is a clit clamp. The most exquisite piece of jewelry a woman can wear, if you ask me.”
A clamp. That sounds about right. It feels tight around my inner lips, inflicting a pressure on my sensitive core that I’ve never experienced before. And I feel like it constantly keeps me at the edge of coming, especially with his touch.
He withdraws his hand and gets back up on his feet while I remain on my back, unsure whether I should—or can—move without hurting myself.
But it’s not like he’s leaving me with a choice.
“Get up,” he orders.
I slowly let go of my labia, terrified of an ache that doesn’t come. The pressure increases just a little as my outer folds enclose the clamp, but there’s no pain to speak of. This could actually be doable.
I cautiously gather myself up into a seated position, grimacing as I can feel the clamp pinching into my flesh, but too curious not to look at it. Something is dangling between my legs and when I look down I realize there are little gem stones hanging from the ends of the clamp. It really is a piece of jewelry.
“It looks… cute,” I comment, blushing as I still sit with my legs spread apart.
He nods. “I knew it would suit you.”
Clearing his throat, he takes a step back, burying his hands in his pants pockets and casting me a mischievous look.
“Now come here and show me how much you want your master to play with you.”
Chapter 37
Raad
They dance the most beautifully when they are in a state like this. When their minds are fogged and their gazes dazed with lust.
Alena is receptive to this kind of treatment, but she never forgets who she is, even when her body takes the lead.
Even now, as she climbs off the bed, moving cautiously while she adapts to the clamp between her legs, she looks at me with smart awareness. She has lost herself entirely before, but only to float in a state of violent ecstasy, a mind-numbing experience that allows for nothing but pleasure.
It’s a high that many seek to achieve, and most of those who do get there don’t do so without drugs. They drink, they swallow pills, they smoke, or even go as far as to inject the poison right into their veins to have that very same experience.
I don’t know which is more dangerous, the game we’re playing or the things these junkies do to themselves, but I know that the rewards are equal in measure.
A weak smile plays on Alena’s face when she gets back on her feet, letting the kimono glide down her shoulders so she stands before me adorned with nothing but the lacy bra and the jewels dangling between her pink lips. I bought the clamp especially for her, despite not knowing if and when I would ever use it on her. Things like this cannot be planned before I’ve met my puppet, before I’ve tasted her, and before I know what buttons to push with her.
I stand still, waiting patiently as she makes her way over to me, her legs always slightly parted when she sets one foot before the other, her back hollowed and a constant pressure applied to her clit. I know she can feel it with every step she takes, the impact of it written all over her face.
I expect her to sink down on her knees before me, but she opts for my shirt first, casting me a cheeky grin as she begins unbuttoning it at the top.
“You said to show you how much I want my master,” she counters in a sultry voice. “Well, he’s more than just a walking cock to me. I want more of him—all of him.”
Her words are heavy with meaning, as is the depth of her ocean-colored eyes when they meet mine. Her expression is determined and fierce, not giving in to her desire to submit to me just yet.
I not only let it happen, but enjoy watching it unravel before my eyes, relishing the way her fingertips grace along my skin when she frees me of my shirt, opening each button with indulgence. She lets her hands glide beneath the fabric, tracing the outline of my muscles as she moves up to my shoulders and then along my upper arms, taking the shirt with her. It glides down to the floor and she follows the motion, slowly going down on her knees while she moves her face so close that I can feel her hot breath traveling down my body.
Her hands casually caress my bulge when she reaches my pants, and she positions herself up on her knees as she unbuckles my belt.
It’s now that I notice her strings hanging idly to the ground instead of being secured in my hands like they usually are. A scare rushes through my body, bringing a hint of fury with it as I’m overcome with the fear of losing control.
I curl my hands into fists, fighting the urge to reach for the strings and possibly kill the moment. This is a consideration I’ve never had to make before. I’ve never lost control of a puppet before, and I’ve never played with any of them without having their strings secured in one way or another. Either I’ve used them to tie the girl down in some way or hold them to make sure I’m the one who decides what she can and cannot do with her hands.
Yet, right now, Alena is the one in charge. She frees my rock-hard length, not bothering to pull my pants down before she wraps her pretty lips greedily around it.
I groan with relish when I feel her tongue sliding hungrily along the lower side of my cock, drawing circles around the sensitive spot at the tip before she leans forward, her tongue pressed against my shaft as she takes in my entire length.
When her lips almost meet my base she stops, fighting her gag reflex while her hands travel up my legs. Hooking her fingers around the waistband, she pulls down my pants and briefs in one motion, all the while keeping my cock buried deep inside her throat.
I step out of my pants, cautious not to move more than I absolutely have to because I don’t want to shift away from her. If anything, I want to draw her closer.
I want more, just like she does.
She doesn’t fight it when I place my hands at the back of h
er head, pushing myself against the back of her throat. A sizzling sensation spreads through my body when her hands trail up the sides of my legs, her nails barely touching my skin, inflicting more of a promise than actual contact while the prickling adds to my need for her.
It’s so easy to make my puppets dance for me in fear. It’s easy to force them to comply with pain, to make them fall apart, tears running down their faces as they scream for mercy.
But it’s so much more satisfying to have them serve like this, like Alena does right now. She’s not acting out of fear or fleeing from the threat of being hurt. She’s pleasing me because she wants to, because she needs to.
That’s why she takes it like a good girl. That’s why she groans with lust when I begin pounding into her like a madman, fucking her face like there’s no tomorrow and reveling in the feeling of her throat being spread open by the fat tip of my cock.
I still have a decision to make. Even in this frenzied state, my mind has to stay clear enough to be aware of that fact. I have a dilemma to face, a path to choose.
And I have to make that decision soon.
Chapter 38
Alena
He fucks my throat so roughly that I get dizzy from the motions and the lack of air. I’m gagging and coughing when he stops, supporting myself on his legs while I struggle not to collapse on his feet, streams of saliva dripping down to the floor and mingling with the tears on my face.
I thought he was planning to come down my throat, because I know how much he loves doing that–and to be honest, I love it, too. It’s oddly gratifying and I love being used like this, turning into his little fuck toy and only existing for his pleasure.
And mine.
My core is on fire and throbbing with need when he hooks his hands under my armpits and roughly lifts me up from the floor. Stumbling, I follow his lead as he brings me back to the bed, pushing me onto the mattress with brutal force.
