“Stop! Take your hands away from your breasts.”
She opened her eyes to see him glaring at her, his fists planted on his hips. She’d failed to please him. A tremor of fear rippled through her, dousing her arousal, and she dutifully dropped her hands.
Realizing what she’d done, she tilted her chin up and squeezed her nipples again, although it didn’t feel anywhere close to as good as it had a moment ago. This wasn’t supposed to be about pleasing him. It was about pleasing her and she’d better start remembering that.
“No. I like touching my breasts.”
His gaze dipped to her nipples, peeking out between her damp fingers. A hint of a smile softened his stern features.
“As I like seeing you touch them. But how can I prove to you that following my commands will bring you pleasure unless you do as I tell you?”
She blinked. Right. That’s why he was ordering her around. For a moment, he’d sounded like—
“I forgot.”
“Obeying my orders was bringing you pleasure then?”
Sam’s face heated, recalling the abandon with which she’d touched herself. “I’m sure you could see that for yourself.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes, obeying you was giving me pleasure.”
A hot thrill went through her at the words, once again tightening her nipples and spiking low and hard in her pussy. This time when she squeezed her nipples, she felt the throb of swollen flesh between her legs.
Sam groaned. That’s why it hadn’t felt as good before. Touching herself wasn’t what was turning her on. Touching herself for him was doing it.
So much for her much-vaulted independence.
She cupped her breasts in her palms, her nipples peeking between her fingers, and squeezed lightly. She gasped, her thighs trembling as arousal pulsed hot and hard in her pussy.
“Is this what you like?” she whispered.
“Your obedience is what I like. Take your hands away from your breasts and remove your slacks.”
This time Sam obeyed without hesitation. She shoved her pants and panties down to her knees then sat back in the recliner to kick them and her shoes off. She was completely naked, except for her socks.
Unbidden, memories overwhelmed her. Of countless hours at the gym, trying to transform the wide hips she’d developed at puberty into the fashionably straight silhouette her ex-husband wanted. Of his disapproving glance and her efforts to find clothing to minimize her figure flaws that never satisfied him.
She realized she was holding her breath and released it in a huff.
“Donna bella,” Giacomo whispered. “Molto bella.Più bella.”
Bella. That meant pretty, didn’t it? He thought she was pretty?
Sam breathed deeply, relaxing beneath his heated gaze.
“Now, mia bella, recline the chair.”
He waited while she struggled with the ancient mechanism, bracing her hands against the recliner’s arms, kicking off from the floor and leaning back with all her weight. It popped loudly and fell backward, the footrest rising with an audible sproing.
“Lean back,” he ordered. “Put your knees over the armrests and let me see your pussy hot and wet, pulsing with eagerness.”
Sam eagerly complied, whimpering as the cooler air of the room wafted across her steaming flesh.
“Spread your lips. Feel how wet you are. How hot.”
Her fingers slid over her throbbing flesh, slick with her juices. Even that light pressure was enough to make her arch her hips and moan.
“You may not move,” he warned her.
A disappointed whine broke from her lips but she obediently stilled her hips. An inadvertent tremble rippled through her thigh and ass muscles but that didn’t count since it was outside her conscious control. “I will not move.”
“Good.”
His praise stroked her like warm velvet and she wanted to wriggle with the pleasure. Instead she remained motionless, the heat of her swollen pussy radiating against her fingers.
“Very good. Slide the fingers of one hand into your slit and push one finger all the way inside you.”
Her right hand dipped between her folds, the fingers splaying in the wet heat as her middle finger thrust deep into her vagina. She was so hungry for him she barely touched her flesh.
“Are you tight?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m wide open.”
“Use two fingers.”
She slipped her middle finger out, brushing across the sensitive entrance, then thrust her middle and ring fingers back inside. They slid down her wet walls but teased her rather than filled her. She moaned in frustration.
“Are you tight?” he asked again.
“Not too tight to move.”
“Use three fingers.”
Sam’s eyes flew open and she stared up at him. His dark gaze was fixed on her spread pussy, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent of her arousal. She could see the strength of his own arousal straining against his leather pants.
“Three?” she whispered. “I’ve never—”
“Three.” His gaze shifted to her face. “Do not question my orders again.”
Something dark and deadly lurked beneath the passion glazing his eyes and the sudden spike of fear only added to her desire. She felt her pussy expanding, heat rising in waves with every rapid beat of her heart.
She pulled her two fingers out, joined her index finger to them and pushed all three into her throbbing vagina. They almost didn’t fit, the walls of her channel forcing her fingers into a tight triangle even as her fingers stretched her opening wider than it had ever stretched before.
She moaned, shivers of delight cascading through her body as her inner muscles clenched and released over and over, trying to accustom themselves to the invasion.
“Dip your other fingers into your juices and paint your nipples.”
Releasing her folds, now held spread open by the palm of her hand, she stroked her other fingers across her wet clit. A lightning bolt of pleasure seared through her, making her hips spasm and her shoulders bow backward as a hoarse cry ripped from her throat.
“I did not give you permission to touch yourself there!” he snapped.
Sam blinked, his furious expression transmuting her pleasure into pulse-pounding terror. “I’m sorry! Forgive me!”
Her knees tightened against the arms of the recliner but she could neither close her legs nor rise to a less vulnerable position.
“I warned you what would happen if you did not follow orders. Now you must be punished.” A hint of a smile played around his lips and his dark eyes filled with smoldering heat. However he planned to punish her, he was looking forward to it.
She trembled, each shiver rocking her against her fingers, which were still buried deep inside her. Slowly, her fear transformed to desire until she panted with frustrated need.
Giacomo stepped forward, holding out a six-inch-long tapered steel weight that must have been tucked into the back of his belt or a back pocket. Or maybe he’d magicked it into existence. The black angles of his tattoo reflected in the polished steel surface, giving it a hint of savagery.
“Take it. And place it inside you instead of your fingers.”
Hesitantly, Sam reached out and took the weight from him. It was cold against her fingers, hard and unyielding. Her throat closed, her lungs struggling for breath as she imagined the alien invasion of her most private parts.
“I’m waiting,” Giacomo cautioned.
She nodded. Taking a deep gulp of air, she held her breath as she slid her fingers free and placed the narrow end of the weight against her opening.
“The other way. This is a punishment after all.”
Silently Sam reversed the weight. The narrow end was only a half-inch wide, barely wider than her finger. The wide end, on the other hand, was huge. Over an inch wide, maybe even an inch and a half. Wider than all three of her fingers together and that wide all the way around. S
he could never take something so big inside her.
But she had no choice. She had disobeyed, moving when she’d promised she would not. She deserved whatever pain her punishment brought her.
Her total subjugation to Giacomo’s will made her pussy pulse hot and wet, opening eagerly to take her punishment.
Slowly, hesitantly, she placed the bulbous end of the weight against her flexing muscles. Her pussy spasmed, trying to pull the slick steel deeper inside—to the hungry emptiness aching to be filled. But it was too big. She couldn’t stretch that far.
Tears leaked from her eyes. She wanted to obey him, she did! But her body failed her, as worthless as her ex-husband had claimed.
“I can’t!”
“You can. Put the heel of your hand against the end and press between the contractions.”
Sam gasped. “You make it sound like labor.”
His low chuckle rasped across her taut nipples, vibrating into her rib cage, as if his face were buried between her breasts. “If a woman can give birth to a nine-pound baby, a one-pound weight shouldn’t be any problem.”
“If I were giving birth, I’d be high on drugs by now.” But she dutifully pressed her palm against the end of the weight and when the next spasm ended, she shoved the steel past the ridge of muscle.
She gasped, spirals of pleasure shuddering through her as every nerve was stimulated. A low, hoarse groan ripped from her throat.
“Now, for your punishment. Ten strokes.”
She focused her blurry vision on the whips at his belt but he made no move to detach either. “Ten strokes?”
“Pull the weight almost out then push it deep inside, ten times. You are not allowed to come until after the final stroke.”
Sam nodded and pulled on the weight. It slid along the tight walls of her channel, prompting another breathy moan before she shoved it deep inside again with a cry.
“One.”
Oh God, he was counting the strokes, like a captain overseeing a sailor’s whipping. Her muscles tightened around the weight, trying to hold it, contain it, but she obediently slid it to the very edge before thrusting it back inside. Another sharp cry burst from her lips.
“Two.”
Her vision filled with gray, starbursts of light obscuring the rest of her sight. Sound dimmed, lost behind the roaring tide of the blood in her ears. The weight rose and fell again.
“Three.”
She’d never make it to ten. The punishment was going to kill her. But, God, what a way to go! She moved faster, pulling and pushing.
“Four. And you must bring it all the way to the end for the strokes to count.”
She whimpered. How many strokes had he refused to count? Carefully, spreading her legs as wide as possible so that he could see she was obeying him, she brought the weight to the very edge of her vagina and let it hang there a moment, supported only by her tight ring of muscle. Then she shoved it back where she needed it to be.
“Five.”
Again, she let the weight hang, this time rotating it so that it caressed the opening to her pussy. Moaning deeply, she thrust it inside.
“Six.”
She lost the ability for anything more creative, simply pulling the weight until it stretched her muscles then forcing it back up her channel as hard and fast as she could.
“Seven. Eight.”
Her legs trembled, her ass bouncing on the old recliner cushion in a puddle of her fluids. Her nipples were so tight she thought her breasts might be trying to turn themselves inside out. And every breath was a struggle to drag oxygen past the shards of glass filling her lungs.
“Nine.”
She wanted to come. She needed to come. Her muscles clenched the weight, refusing to release it, begging her to stroke it faster, deeper and harder until she got what she needed. The fingers of her other hand twitched, wanting to grab her clit and rub it hard until she split in two from the release.
But she did none of those things. She pulled the weight exactly as far out as Giacomo had told her to then pushed it back in.
“Ten. Good girl. You’ve been punished enough. Now you may have your reward.”
“Oh yes, please.”
“Take the weight out.”
Sam tugged the heavy steel all the way out of her body. It stretched the sensitive ring of muscle at her entrance, pressing hard against her nerves as it slid free and triggered an explosion.
She screamed, bouncing and trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of ecstasy tore through her helpless body, the ripples flowing out and back, crashing against the later ripples to form new and exquisite wave patterns of pleasure. Long after she lost her voice, long after exhaustion claimed her limp body, pleasure still pooled and flowed through her veins.
When she finally opened her eyes, the room was noticeably dimmer than it had been but Giacomo was still standing before her, hands on hips, an arrogant smirk on his lips.
Sam tried to speak, resulting in only a hoarse croak. Licking her lips and swallowing, she tried again.
“I’ve changed my mind. I give you permission to master me.”
Chapter Three
Giacomo’s swollen cock pressed hard against the tight leather of his pants. The woman who had summoned him lay sprawled in the recliner, eyes closed and arms splayed limply where they’d fallen, her legs spread to reveal her wet and glistening pussy. The scent of sex filled the room.
She had admitted she wanted his mastery. She had given him permission to master her. Now all he had to do was bring her to transcendent pleasure as she served him and his curse would be broken. He could resume his life.
A brief sliver of guilt stabbed his conscience but he ruthlessly pushed it away with the ease of long practice. If he, who had killed in the name of revenge, had been offered an option to continue his life simply because he had died before his time, no doubt Jeffrey’s blameless wife and son had been granted similar clemency. If they had even died. It was possible that he’d managed to save them from the blast. Master Dante had refused to tell him their fate and Giacomo had quickly learned obedience at the end of his lash.
The first few times Master Dante had come for him, Giacomo had asked questions—what had happened to Jeffrey’s family, what had happened to his family’s holdings, how long would he be there? Master Dante would answer only that the world of the living was no longer his concern then strike unerringly with his whip for maximum pain and damage. The session would only end when Giacomo was dead, allowing him a brief moment of respite before his body was once again recreated as it had been the morning of his first death, with the addition of a black tattoo on his hand that marked him as an initiate of the Monastery of Mastery.
Locked naked in his dark stone cell, Giacomo could do nothing but remember the tortures he had already endured and dread the tortures yet to come until Master Dante came for him again. Because of the way Jeffrey had been killed, Giacomo had his skin flayed off then the underlying flesh burnt with hot irons, or sometimes his skin was burned before being flayed away. Occasionally, his bloodied body would be dunked into a tank of brine or a rag would be stuffed down his throat to keep it open and saltwater poured in until he drowned. Beyond the physical pain of those tortures, he feared they indicated he was also paying for the deaths of Jeffrey’s wife and son.
When the heavy iron door of his cell swung open, silhouetting Master Dante in the light of the hallway, Giacomo couldn’t help himself. He began to tremble, tears filling his eyes as he cringed into the farthest corner of his cell. If he still ate and drank, no doubt he’d have soiled himself in terror.
The black figure of justice asked the same question each time. “Do you willingly accept the penance for your sin?”
Giacomo had only to refuse and his torment would end. But it would be replaced by an eternal torment, with no hope of ever ending. So each time, he answered, “I do.” First speaking then whispering, then finally mouthing the words when his terrified throat permitted no sound to escape.
When Master Dante said instead, “Your penance is completed. Now you begin your training,” Giacomo had gaped at him in incomprehension. He’d thought at first it was a particularly cruel form of torture, but Master Dante did not change his mind and return him to the torture chamber. Instead, after fastening the silver bracelet inscribed with the terms of his sentence around Giacomo’s wrist, he led Giacomo to the main area of the monastery where he met the other initiates learning to become Masters.
The rules of the monastery dictated that they could not speak of what they’d done to end up there or what price they had paid for their sins, but it was permissible to relate the date of their death and news of the world. The other men had surrounded Giacomo, eager for a source of new information, in return teaching him what he needed to survive Master Dante’s more advanced lessons.
Noticing that he was absentmindedly fingering the leather tails of his flogger, he snatched his hand away, clasping his wrists behind his back. Feet spread, he lifted his head and puffed out his chest in Dominance Position #4.
“As I said, I am Master Giacomo. Now you will give me your name.”
The woman blinked sex-sated brown eyes and blushed. “Oh God, you never even knew my name. It’s Sam. Samantha, I mean. Samantha Taylor.”
He nodded. “Sam. You are—”
A high-pitched, piercing melody echoed through the room, the short pattern of notes repeating twice as he glanced about, trying to find where the noise was coming from. Sam dove for her purse and fished out a glowing blue plastic device little larger than a matchbook. She flipped it open, silencing the annoying chirping. Her eyes widened.
“Shit! Look at the time. I’ve got to get dinner started.”
She threw the device into her purse then quickly gathered her clothing. Shaking each piece free of dust with a loud snap, she dressed rapidly. Giacomo was adrift in confusion but knew he had to recover control of the situation quickly.
“Stop,” he ordered.
Sam paused, her fingers clenched in the hem of her T-shirt she was tugging down. The scent of her arousal increased, her nipples poking against the thin cotton covering them. After just one session her body was already primed to associate obeying him with sexual ecstasy.
Life Sentence Page 4
