Private Secretary
Page 13
“I don’t want to, Sir. I want to be yours everywhere.”
“Your mouth is mine.” He pressed a finger against her lips, and she sucked it in to acknowledge it.
He slipped it out again and lowered his hand. “Your neck is mine.” She felt his hand, pressing on her throat. She could breathe, but for a moment she thought she couldn’t. His power was unmistakable, as was her vulnerability. But she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. “Yes.”
“Your breasts.” He grabbed one roughly, reminding her anew of the sting of the crop.
“Yes.” The Sir seemed superfluous, too obvious to be stated.
“Your belly.” He caressed it.
“Who would want that?” She asked.
“Me.”
“Crazy man.”
He chuckled. “We’ll work on your self-esteem. You’re beautiful to me.” His hand went farther. “Your pussy.”
“Always, Sir.”
He let her go, then caressed her bottom. His fingers tickled her anus, but to her surprise, he said nothing about her ass being his. Then he let go, leaving her to wonder.
The cane tapped against her ass, softly. “Yours, Sir,” she said.
“Yes.” Suddenly he laid a line of white hot fire across her backside.
She screamed. The intensity of it caught her by surprise, even though she was no novice. He traced the fresh welt he had left with his finger.
“Breathe with it, Carrie. You can take this for me.” He caressed her back and tapped gently with the cane.
She wasn’t so sure for a moment. She’d experienced as much intensity, but she’d always had emotional distance to go with it. Now her defenses were gone. Tears ran down her face. But as she breathed, she settled down. The endorphins were kicking in.
He seemed to sense when she was ready. Another line of fire joined the second, this one lower down. This time she did not call out. She focused on her breathing and found herself floating. Time passed. She felt his hand reassuring her and providing her the connection she needed. He was her ground, leaving her free to fly like a kite attached to him by a string of desire and trust.
He delivered the strokes with precision, working his way down. The last ones hurt the most, on her thighs. There was enough flesh there to be safe, but not as much as on her butt, and the strokes there, one on each side, felt deeper.
“Your ass and your thighs are most definitely mine.”
“Hmm,” was all the response she could manage, but she meant it as yes.
He reached down and detached her ankle cuffs from the frame and then her hands. She nearly fell into his arms. He turned her to face him and held her. “We aren’t done yet. But it’s okay to take a breather.”
She smiled. Whatever he wanted. She was in a glorious haze. He held her for a long while and then pulled her arms up. He clipped her wrist cuffs to bolts in the X frame, fixing her to the cross again. He tossed the cane on the bed. She let her weight pull down on the cuffs. She liked feeling the bondage.
He stepped back, and picked the crop back up from the bed. “Back straight. Chest out,” he said.
Uh oh. She hesitated for a moment. His intentions were clear, and she knew the crop would hurt on her breasts. Maybe not as much as the cane. But maybe.
He waited.
She gave in and straightened, offering her chest to him. She’d already agreed it was his, after all. This has all gone much further than I ever expected. Further than I knew I wanted. This is way more than in the office. It’s everywhere.
“Good girl.” He tapped her nipples with the crop, alternating. They were light taps and didn’t hurt, but it still took a force of will to avoid flinching away. They would not remain light, and he could choose to deliver more at any moment. But she wanted to be his good girl far more than she wanted to avoid pain.
She’d never really been a good girl. Not for Clive, although she’d tried to get his approval. Not for the Doms she’d played with but didn’t love. She was always the bad girl, there. This was something new, something strange.
“I want to give you marks you can see easily in a mirror,” Blake said. “Because our marks are not only proof that you are mine, they are a promise that I am yours, as well.”
Mine. She liked that quite a bit. With it came the promise that the crop would bite hard, however. There was no point in bracing for it. Instead, she took deep breaths, conscious that they made her chest rise and fall, but above all knowing that if she could focus on her breathing, she could take anything.
He seemed to sense when she was ready. He flicked the crop hard against the side of her left breast, and she screamed. He could gag her if he didn’t like the noise, but screaming helped let it out. She’d been stoic for other Doms, just to prove she could take it, but she had the feeling he would let her yell.
She also didn’t think it would make him stop, and she was right. He concentrated on the areas just outside and under her nipples, where she would be covered even if she wore something with a deep neckline. She wanted to pull back. It was incredibly hard to hold herself there, but she did. It wouldn’t do any good to pull back, anyway. He would just move her back into position. The only thing that would stop the crop from stinging her breasts was to use her safe word, and that would disappoint him. She would only do that if she had to.
Besides, she wanted the marks no matter how much they hurt.
He leaned forward. She didn’t know if he was pausing or stopping. Her heart raced with anticipation, anxiety, wonderment. Time seemed to move so slowly it was almost stopped. She felt his fist, still holding the crop, rest against her thigh. His chest brushed her nipples.
“Your breasts bruise so nicely, my lovely secretary,” he whispered.
She’d never thought she’d want to hear that from a boss or a lover, but the tone of appreciation in his voice made it seem like the highest compliment. “I am happy I have pleased you, Sir.”
“Sir at work. Master, here.”
She breathed. “Master,” she agreed. How many times had she called him that in her feverish fantasies, the ones that ended with her little vibe pressed against her clit?
“Good girl.” He dropped the crop, and the metal tip of the handle clattered on the wooden floor.
Then he slid his hand between her legs. She was so wet his fingers slipped into her pussy embarrassingly easily. He’d expected that, obviously. He’d known how her body would respond to pain, and she’d never be able to lie to him about it. The evidence was all too obvious.
He curled his fingers inside her perfectly. His other hand gripped her throat, applying light pressure and forcing her chin up so that she had to look into his eyes. His gaze was so intense it felt like he could look right into her soul. It turned her on to have his hand there. She trusted him, and in that trust, she could relax.
His thumb brushed against her clit and she shivered. His chest compressed her sore breasts, and the pain turned her on even more. He moved his finger just right, and she came. She felt herself flooding his hand with wetness. Her womb clenched and released. She’d never felt an orgasm so deep inside before and so intense.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be silly. It’s beautiful. Your orgasms are beautiful.” He sounded like he meant it. And he didn’t stop, either, rubbing her clit and stroking her G-spot. Her body shuddered again, her pussy squeezing his fingers. She felt done. Sated. She started to let her body rest in the cuffs, but his hand on her neck stopped her from doing so.
He fished a condom wrapper out of his pocket and ripped it with his teeth. His turn for pleasure. She thought it was perfectly fair, and she only wished she didn’t feel so limp and could be an active participant.
He unzipped, then slid the condom over his big hard cock. Only after he’d accomplished all that did he let go of her throat. He lifted her legs and pressed her back against the frame, then entered her in one smooth, deep thrust.
“Take your pleasure from me, Master.”
“We’re n
ot done with yours.”
“I don’t think I can…” she said and then realized her body was going to betray her again. She felt the heat rising in her core, tensing. How can he get so much out of me? But he angled his cock just right, and she could feel his fingers on the lowest welt he’d made with the cane. Pleasure and pain was going to be too much for her.
She fought it. It didn’t make sense, but regardless of what he desired, she wanted it to be all about him now. But what she wanted didn’t make any difference. He knew how to angle his cock perfectly, and the feeling of fullness she felt when he thrust all the way in was incredible. His big strong arms lifting her were an aphrodisiac. The cuffs around her wrist emphasized the point. He was in control.
“Come for me now,” he murmured in her ear, and she did. Only then did he join her, and she could feel his heat as he came. She had no more energy to fight anything. She closed her eyes, happy in the knowledge that she was his.
About Sindra van Yssel
Sindra van Yssel is a multi-published author of BDSM romance fiction, who likes to explore trust and commitment and pack her stories with plenty of kinky sex. She draws on her own experience within the BDSM community to keep the scenes both hot and realistic, and has a soft spot for happy endings and characters who learn more about themselves. Her love of books has led her to both her professions: librarian and writer.
Sindra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sindra van Yssel
Iron Butterfly 1: Only if it Pleases
Iron Butterfly 2: Double Bind
Master in Melbourne
Submission Island 1: Passion Flower
Submission Island 2: On Location
Submission Island 3: Please, Sir
Recipe for Submission
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Private Secretary
ISBN 9781419992926
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Private Secretary Copyright © 2014 Sindra van Yssel
Cover design by Fiona Jayde Media
Cover photography by Sean Nel
Electronic book publication December 2014
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Table of Contents
Blurb
Title
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About Sindra van Yssel
Also by Sindra van Yssel