“Please, Master,” she said in a trembling voice as he took up a position behind her. Did she mean Please, Master, don’t hurt me? Or Please, Master, just get it over with? Or did she really love the cane?
“Did you mean what you said earlier, slave girl? About liking pain?” He asked not only for safety’s sake, but because she fascinated him and he wanted to know.
She didn’t even hesitate. “If you wish to punish me, Master, then I wish to be hurt.”
He traced the tip of the cane up one quivering thigh and down the other. “Stop with the role-playing for a second. Answer me honestly. How hard can I go?”
She turned her head back toward him, thinking a moment. “Hard enough to make it feel real.”
His already-engorged cock swelled even hotter with pleasure. “Eyes down then. Be still. I’m going to make it feel real for you.”
“Thank you, Master,” he heard her whisper as he drew back his arm to land the first stroke. He loved these kinds of games, loved to see her body jolt and the pink cane stripe bloom and deepen on her skin. He hadn’t started with an awful stroke, no, but it wasn’t a warm-up either. She yelped and squeezed her legs together, her little ass cheeks clenching and unclenching. It made a lovely target for the second stroke. Jason was an experienced D-type—he knew canes hurt like hell—but he’d also come to understand that some women needed pain to arouse them, to open them up.
He watched his reckless slave girl, looking for signs that the pain was right. On the third stroke she made a pleading sound and drew her spread fingers into fists. On the fourth stroke she cried out, but then she arched her back higher, as if to offer herself for more. Oh, beautiful. So beautiful. He gave her one more stroke in that graceful position and then paused.
“Spread your legs.”
She looked back at him, blinking. He wouldn’t repeat himself, because he knew she’d heard him the first time. “Are we a naughty slave girl or a good slave girl?” he asked. “Show me.”
Slowly, she lowered her head and inched her legs apart.
“Wider. I want your knees two feet apart and I want your ass in the air. I want to see everything, clit, pussy lips, asshole.”
He was mindfucking her a little. Trying to scare her. Trying to make it feel real. She complied with a lovely mien of dread, offering her body to him in the requested explicit pose. He took a moment to sit on the bed and admire the picture. Her bare pussy glistened, her engorged clit peeking from between the folds. Her little asshole spasmed with fear or nervousness. Caning a woman wasn’t strenuous but she was putting a huge strain on his cock. He stood and moved behind her. Again, her fingers curled into fists above her head, but she didn’t cringe, didn’t cower. Maybe she whimpered, just a little bit.
Music to his ears.
He enjoyed playing like this, pushing her boundaries, keeping her in the dark about how many strokes she’d get, or how hard they’d become. Right now, she was scared of getting caned on her sensitive center. The prospect was tempting. He slid the tip of the cane along her labia to tease over the bud of her clit. She made a sound somewhere between terror and bliss, lifting her hips for more at the same time she shuddered with misery.
It was so hard not to drop to his knees and thrust into her and fuck her across the floor, but it wasn’t time for that yet, not for either of them. Again, he slid the cane over her gleaming slit until she dipped and danced to feel the pleasure of its touch.
“Keep your legs open,” he said. “Arch that back and offer yourself to me like a good slave.”
She complied with another nut-clenching whimper. Blood swarmed in his pelvis, arousal building to a fever pitch. He drew back his arm and saw her tensing. Waiting.
Yes, this one enjoyed pain.
* * * * *
Sara drew in a deep breath and held it, bracing for God knew what. That was the scary thing about giving a complete stranger control over your body. She’d never done anything like this before, but then, she’d never met a man like Jason before, who was kind and protective and stern, and breathtakingly handsome all at once.
“Oh, Master,” she cried out as the cane landed in a line of stinging fire.
It hurt so badly, but it felt perfect. For her, perfect meant terribly painful, but not so painful that she couldn’t bear it. She could even feel a whisper of the cane against her clit, a bit of sting but no injury. What a controlled touch. She’d assumed he was experienced at exchanging power, just from the way he talked and the effortless way he took control of her. Even his physique spoke of authority and power. This guy worked out and took care of his body. He was perfectly made, from the top of his broad shoulders to his cut abs to his sculpted thighs and calves. His skin was golden and flawless, his complexion marred only by a bronze scruff of stubble she’d explored with light fingers.
Her boss had taken one look at the well-dressed, towering Amerik and told her to get him plastered, so they could lure him into one of the private rooms. In the three weeks she’d worked at the club, she’d seen it done seven times…hapless, passed-out tourists charged an exorbitant amount of money for sexual favors they didn’t even receive. But she could tell right away that Jason Beck was a kind man, that he was noble. She hadn’t been able to do what her boss asked.
And now here she was. Unemployed and sprawled on his hotel room floor with her ass in the air.
“Owww.” The next cane stroke caught her by surprise. Her body surged with adrenaline and her pussy grew even wetter. She ached for him to take her. Big muscles, big body, big cock. She wanted him to push it inside her while her ass cheeks still smarted from his punishment. He was the first dominant man to arouse her to such a fever pitch. And how? A few curt orders, a bit of pain.
More than a bit. He gave her another fiery stroke, then tapped her on the small of her back. “Don’t tense up. Spread for me. Open yourself to it.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. She wanted to be open for him. She wanted him. She looked back over her shoulder, a look meant to entice, even though she knew it might anger him.
He made a low sound in his throat. “You’re a greedy little slave, aren’t you? You want my cock? You want to be fucked?” She shuddered as he stroked her clit again with the tip of the implement.
“Oh, please, Master,” she begged. She wanted to grab the cane and masturbate against it, slide along its length as her bottom throbbed. He was so good at this...
“Aren’t you being punished for lack of self-control? If you want my cock, you need to learn your lesson first, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.”
But she couldn’t control herself, not when he tapped just so at her clit, just enough to hurt her and tease her and make her ache in the exact, perfect way. She arched against the cane with a sob. She heard his tsk just before she felt the white-hot pain of the next stroke.
“Master, I’m sorry. Please!”
“Please? There’s only one person here who needs to please, and that’s you. Be a good slave. Be still and let me touch you as I want to. Control yourself.”
Sara squeezed her eyes shut, feeling close to tears as the cane’s tip molested her most sensitive parts. She truly felt he was her Master and she wanted to please him, even though all of this was a game. She gritted her teeth and steeled herself not to arch and press against the blessed relief of the implement’s caress.
“That’s right. Still and docile. Fulfilling my pleasure, not yours.” His low voice thrilled her, gave her the fortitude to hold motionless as he teased her, on and on and on. It was maybe a minute, but it felt like an hour that he toyed with her clit. She heard him laugh, felt the cane disappear and then felt a light tap across the soles of her feet. “Uncurl your toes, good girl. That’s over. The teasing anyway.”
But not the—oww! He gave her a solid, burning stroke, so she howled and twisted out of her required pose.
“No,” he said. “Try again. I thought we were getting somewhere. Kneel straight and open yourself for Master. For Master’s
will and Master’s punishment.”
Something about his voice hypnotized her, or bespelled her. Something about him touched her so deeply that she resumed her position, even knowing the pain to come. She’d never cried during any scene in her past, but her eyes felt hot and prickly. She felt a few tears squeeze through her tightly-shut lids.
How much more would he give her? How much more could she take? Her ass felt huge and hot, each stripe of the cane a throbbing weal. What she wanted more than anything was to be joined to him physically, to take his power and mastery into her body in the ultimate surrender. She wanted the memory of his possession, a memory she could treasure forever. She wanted to cry, “When will you fuck me?” but he didn’t want that. She understood that he didn’t want her demands and greediness, her horny weakness. He wanted her submission. He wanted her to be a pleasing, well-behaved slave.
So she gave him well-behaved. She groveled on the ground, ass up, hands still, his name on her lips. Master, Master, Master... He gave her five more strokes, solid, burning ones, and she accepted each one of them with a dignity that came from within, that she never really knew she had.
“My God,” he murmured when he was done, and she echoed him silently. My God, I never knew I had that in me. I never felt enslaved by someone until now. She’d scened with a few local men in the lifestyle, submitted to their barrage of toys and playthings, clamps and whips and handcuffs and ball gags, but it had never felt real. This man had brought out her deepest submission with one rattan cane. He lowered it beside her head and tapped at her cheek.
“You made a mess of this. Clean it up.”
Oh…wow. She opened her mouth and he inserted the tip, watching her lick and suck it in a shameless dramatization of what she wanted to do to his cock. Meanwhile, he placed a hand over her spread, exposed pussy. She almost bit off a piece of the cane when he thrust a finger deep in her cleft. His hand was so big, his finger so thick and long. She squeezed on it but she didn’t dare hump it the way she wanted to.
Then the finger was gone. She saw his boxer briefs hit the floor, and she heard him putting on a condom. She turned to see his thick cock jutting out from a thatch of dark hair. Her breath caught in anticipation.
“Are you done cleaning that off?” he asked, inspecting the cane. “Good. Now hold it between your teeth, to remind you about the perils of being greedy with Master’s cock.”
He drew her head back by her hair and made her open wide, and set the cane far back in her teeth so it acted as both gag and reminder. Don’t be greedy. Don’t do anything. Let him manipulate you.
He rearranged her on her hands and knees, still holding her hair so her chest was lifted off the floor. “Now, stay,” he said. “My pretty little plaything.”
And then he played with her, until her teeth ground against the rattan barrier in her mouth. He traced her sore cane marks, taking his time to study every one, then slid two fingers into her pussy. Then three. It wasn’t only the fullness that aroused her, but the aggressive, careless way he did it. She truly was his plaything, his toy to poke and explore at will. He didn’t touch her clit, which was certainly on purpose. “You’re so wet, little slave. So tight and hot and wet down there. What about here?”
He withdrew from her pussy and pressed a finger against the tight ring of her ass. She tensed but he drove it in anyway, using the copious wetness of her pussy to ease the way. She squirmed and twisted as he pressed deeper. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Whose pleasure do you serve?”
“Yours, Master,” Sara whimpered, going still. But oh…wow. He resumed his “pleasure” while she shook and accepted it. “Very, very tight,” he said in an approving voice, when she was fully impaled. “Nice and tight for Master. I wonder if you could handle two fingers?”
She waited in a silent panic as he withdrew the first finger and added another. She felt discomfort, stretching. A bit of fear. What if he tried to put his cock in there? She’d done anal before, but not with any guy as big as him. He slid his fingers out a bit and then thrust them back in, mimicking anal intercourse. She took quick breaths, biting on the cane. She was still trying to accustom herself to the invasion when she felt his cock at the entrance to her pussy.
Yes, yes, please take me. He eased forward, his cock stretching her pussy just as his fingers stretched her asshole. She felt so full, so controlled. She couldn’t cry or beg, or say anything, only make shuddering gasps past the implement in her mouth. He pressed all the way in, until she felt his thighs against the back of her legs. At the same time, he teased her asshole with his fingers, driving them in and out.
It was shameful, raunchy. And it was him, which made it wonderful beyond belief. The gorgeous, commanding Amerik was joined with her, something she’d wanted since she first gazed into his eyes. She tensed her ass cheeks, keening behind the cane. The stripes on her ass tightened and ached with the movement of her muscles. She turned to watch him fuck her, his rippling torso tapering to sculpted hips that banged against her cheeks.
Now that his cock and his fingers were both comfortably buried inside her, he fucked her faster, harder, so she never had any relief from the fullness of his possession. She braced her tethered hands against the floor and bit down on her gag. She wanted to stroke her clit but she didn’t dare, not without his permission. In some way it was the frustration and discomfort that fanned her arousal so high. She was a masochist. She got off on this.
“Please, Master,” she cried, her words distorted by the cane between her teeth.
“If you’re begging me for anything, you’re welcome to continue. But I’ll do exactly as I like, and I’ll let you come when I like. If I like.”
She danced on his hand, on his cock, his erotic puppet, and yes, it seemed he held everything in his hands, her desire, her will, and definitely her ability to orgasm. “That’s a good girl,” he said as she shuddered with the knowledge. He reached around and caught one of her nipples with his free hand, and squeezed it hard, twisting it. She threw back her head in agony, but her pussy clenched at the same time. He pinched the other nipple, brutally hard, brutally uncaring.
“You like that, don’t you? Being hurt? Being used for Master’s pleasure?” he asked. “I can feel you squeezing my cock. I want you to come hard enough for me to feel it. I want to feel your ass clamping down on my fingers too.”
All she could do was groan and obey him. He held her completely in his hands. One hand tortured her nipples as the other frigged her asshole. He pounded her pussy with his huge cock, pounded her so hard she had to brace against the floor. Master, Master, Master...that hurts. Please, hurt me.
Her submission and his mastery meshed together into one consuming flame and her orgasm arrived, torment and pleasure melting together. The cane clattered to the floor as she cried out at the power of her climax. This was worth it, surely, the loss to follow. Behind her, her Master reached his own completion, driving deep inside with shattering thrusts. She felt so much joy at satisfying him that she paid no attention to how rough he was.
It was pain. It was pleasure. It was service...and it had never felt quite like this before.
For a while they were still, shuddering together, gasping for breath. Then he ran a hand up her back and eased out of her, first the fingers in her asshole and then the thickness of his cock. She sank down to her stomach on the scratchy carpet, feeling empty. She heard him behind her in the bathroom, washing up.
She didn’t want to move, because then this would be over. She was the one who had insisted, one night, one time. She hated herself for that, but it was self-preservation. She heard him pulling on his boxer briefs and then his pants. Goodbye, beautiful cock. It was nice knowing you. He came to her, sat beside her and stroked her hair.
“So,” he said in a low, warm voice. “Real enough? How did you like that?” When she didn’t answer, his voice took on a note of concern. “Was I too rough?”
She rolled over and looked at him, but she didn’t say anything, because she was afra
id of the ridiculous, lovelorn things she’d say. He drew her into his arms, cradled her against his chest so her cuffed hands nestled between her breasts. She pressed her head against his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. Ah, his hair was so soft, and it smelled so good. She sniffed it furtively, imprinting the scent of him in her memory.
“Struck speechless, are you? I guess that’s a good thing.”
“It was fun. Very fun.” It hurt to belittle their incredible scene, their incredible connection, with an adjective like “fun,” but it would hurt more to give voice to the depth of her feelings. He might see how infatuated she was, and how foolish. “Are you going to uncuff me?”
He drew back from her. “Not yet.”
“I have to go.”
“Not yet,” he repeated. He helped her up and drew her over by the bed. He sat on the edge of it and tugged her forward until she was standing between his legs. He was dressed now. Well, half dressed. His chest and muscles still beckoned her. She could have traced them for hours, never tiring of exploring him. He looked bemused when she finally dragged her gaze up to his.
“Still set on one time? I’m not trying to talk you into anything, but…you’re sure?”
She nodded, hardening her heart against him. He was leaving.
“I’ll be here a few more days. I work for—”
Her cuffed hands flew to his mouth. “Don’t. The more I know about you, the more difficult you’ll be to forget.”
The twinkle left his eyes, replaced by resignation. He drew down her hands and worked at the clasp between the cuffs. “Would you like to keep these? Or will they also make me too difficult to forget?”
“You have to keep everything.”
He unbuckled the first cuff, setting it on the bed. “That’s fine. I won’t mind remembering this. Remembering you.” He unbuckled the other one and paused. “You’re a very memorable person. A Mongolian woman who speaks English like a proper British person.”
Bound in Blue Page 3
