by Linnea May
He turns to me. His expression is unhappy, and when he reaches for the ring on my collar, I can sense why. He pulls me closer, until my naked body is pressed firmly against his.
"Why did you leave me like that?" I ask. He averts my seeking gaze, only wrapping an arm around me to keep me close. He pulls me closer, as if worried I‘ll run away any moment, but he still avoids looking at me.
This is new. Usually, I was the one to divert my eyes, while he always insisted on fixating his gaze on me.
"Is something wrong?"
He shakes his head.
"Everything is fine as long as you are with me, doll."
His words seer my heart with a strange but welcome warmth. I don't know what to make of it, but I like what he’s telling me.
"Why is it so dark in here?" I ask. It’s a question that‘s been on my mind since he stormed into the room to fuck me like a wild savage.
"I wanted you to get some rest," he says. "Any amount of light disturbs even the the most tired, wouldn't you agree?"
I shrug. "I guess so. I was just surprised, you didn't do it the last time I was here."
"Be grateful then. Maybe I'm being a little nicer to you this time."
There's something bitter about his voice. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Did something happen while I was sleeping? Something that doesn't have to do with him and me? Something work-related? Did he get some kind of bad news?
"What time is it?" I ask. "Is it night?"
My question unsettles him. I can tell by how he tenses up.
"That's none of your concern."
"It kind of is, because-"
"It's not," he insists adamantly, interrupting me. "You're here with me now. That's all that matters."
I cast him a look from the side, hoping he‘ll turn his face toward me and at least let his eyes speak to me, if not his voice. But he doesn't, instead he continues to stare in front of him, the same apathetic expression on his face.
"Are you sure you're okay, master?" I repeat my earlier question, my voice soft and conveying understanding and acceptance. I'm addressing him the way he wants me to, knowing it usually results in the response for which I’m hoping. Information, mercy, a reward.
Not this time, though.
He refuses to let me in on whatever it is bothering him. But he does turn his head to me, his blue eyes finally meeting mine, looking as if he's just made a resolution.
"Did you come, doll?" he asks, locking me down with his intense gaze.
I blush, inhaling audibly.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't–"
"Did you come?" he interrupts me. "That's all I want to know. It’s an easy question. Be honest."
"No," I say, shaking my head. "No, I didn't come."
I was so very close – twice – first when he was fucking me, and then when I was touching myself, so desperate to evoke that release he refused me. But he barged in just before I climaxed.
"You didn't make yourself come either?" he probes.
I blush, lowering my eyes. "No, master."
"Good," he says. "Because that's my job. Every single one of your orgasms belong to me while you're here. You know that, doll."
"Yes, master."
"You know that, but you still disobeyed and touched yourself," he says. "You even stole one of my toys."
He's completely calm as he lists all the things I've done to displease him. I remember our first meeting, the day he explained to me the difference between overstepping boundaries and sheer disobedience. Rules, punishments, rewards. Based on what I know, I’ve committed one of the greatest offenses imaginable by stealing a release that belonged to him by touching myself and using a toy that I wasn't supposed to touch when he wasn't around.
"You know I can't let that go unpunished," he adds. It's a statement, not a question.
"Yes, master," I reply in a low voice, nodding in defeat.
My body is already so sore that I don't even want to imagine the magnitude of my punishment. And of course, he knows me well enough to come up with the one thing I hate the most.
He gets up from the bed, holding the end of the leash in his hand and forcing me to follow him, awkwardly stumbling, as I try to keep myself from falling over. I quickly give up and drop to all fours to follow him, the position I know he prefers anyway.
He turns up the light in passing by raising a little switch next to the door. The light is still dimmed, but at least now I can make out more than vague outlines.
He drags me over to the glass cabinet, and soon my worst fear comes true. He opens the door and reaches for the cane, the same fucking cane he used on me during our very first night together.
"Tell you what, doll," he says, weighing the cane in his hands. "I'll use this on you, and I'll make you fucking love it."
He turns around, looking down at me, a mean glint sparkling in his blue eyes. I want to pinch my eyebrows and tell him how ridiculous this sounds to me, but I know this response would only worsen my situation. Still, I can't see how he can even imagine that I could come to love this fucking thing. The cane is nothing but pain, and I can't remember taking any pleasure from it when he used it on me the last time.
He lets go of the leash and drops it to the floor, nodding toward the bed.
"Get back over there, doll," he commands. "Kneel before the bed, and place your elbows on top of it."
I pause only for a second before complying to his command. "Yes, master."
I crawl over to the bed, knowing his eyes are on me every second. I stop when I reach the bed frame, straightening up on my knees. I bend forward, supporting myself on the mattress. I hollow my back, knowing he‘ll ask me to do it anyway.
"Good girl," he praises, noticing my efforts.
I flinch in surprise when, instead of feeling the crushing blow of the cane, his strong hands caress my body. He‘s placed himself behind me and is stroking along both sides of my back, all the way down to my hips. His touch is soothing and electrifying at the same time. He cups my ass, kneading the bruised skin as he pulls my cheeks apart to expose my core to him.
I can't suppress a little moan, even though I try to remain quiet. His hands travel further, assessing every inch of my ass before moving one of them between my legs. He pinches me on the inner side of my thighs to spread my legs further apart. I oblige and am rewarded with a tingling sensation when he reaches between my legs, one of his fingers sliding between my labia and making me jerk at the sensation. I've been so close to coming twice already that my arousal never really subsided, even while I was sitting next to him, fearing punishment. It's always hovered at the surface, ready to take over at the slightest stimulation.
Just like this. His touch is so sensual, so fucking erotic, there's no way for me to withstand it. And I don't want to withstand it. If I'm to expect punishment with the cane, I want to be in the best mental state possible, more aroused than in agony.
"Look at you," he whispers hoarsely behind me. "Dripping all over my hand like a good girl."
His naughty words only add to my agitation, and when he begins to draw circles around my swollen nub, I'm so overwhelmed that I let out a hearty groan. Shame is always dancing in the corner of my mind when I'm with him, but it's beginning to only fuel my incitement.
Just as I lean into his skilled touch, he withdraws his hand, leaving me empty and exposed, throbbing with need for more. I lean back, my hips following his retreating hand.
But instead of a sensual massage, I'm met with sharp pain as he strikes the cane down on my ass for the first time. I shriek out in anguish, still processing the pain when he hits me again. It leaves a stinging ache in a different spot on my ass, a little lower than the first time. A third strike hits me even lower, causing me to writhe and round my back.
"No, doll," he says. "You stay pretty for me. Arch that back and show me that pretty ass."
He places his hand on the small of my back, applying gentle pressure to beckon me to hollow it, to stick my aching ass out.
"More," he demands. "And spread your legs."
I do as I'm told, and I'm rewarded with the return of his hand between my legs, sliding between my lips to toy with my sensitive nub. I groan, hollowing my back further and leaning into his touch. It's a lot easier to obey his commands like this, when his skilled fingers are playing with my core, evoking warm thrills of bliss.
Just like before, he takes it away from me in a split second, replacing pleasure with another round of sharp pain. I'm prepared this time, fighting to maintain my position, even as my skin screams out in agony. Another blow follows, and this one doesn't just hit my ass, but inflicts a sting on my pussy, as well. I flinch, but more out of surprise than pain. He adds a longer pause this time, watching my reaction as I process the pain after his last strike.
"You like that, doll?"
I don't know how to reply, so I just lower my head, trembling in confusion.
A desperate shriek escapes my lips a moment later when he lands another blow on my tortured ass. It‘s so low this time that I'm sure I don't imagine the pain on my labia.
A swooshing sound announces another stroke that’s quickly followed by another one, and another one. I'm breaking out into a sweat, trembling as I breathe through the pain, my hands clenching around the sheets on the bed, my cries turning into groans. The pain travels through me with fiery vigor, consuming every part of me, my mind, my body... and my heart. I pant in agony. My ass is glowing with heat, enduring more jabs, each one of them placed in a slightly different spot than the one before, and each inflicting its own burn.
Sweat is running down my spine and drenching the sheets, as I'm shaken by spasms. My sweat is mixed with tears.
And then everything changes. As if a switch is turned on inside of me, the pain... changes. The stings remain the same, but the effect they have on me turns into something completely different. They're no longer pure agony, but now another emotion comes into play.
Pleasure. Bliss. A warm tingling flickers through my core each time the cane lands on my ass, and especially the ones that leave a stinging taste on my pussy.
I find myself leaning into the strokes, hollowing my back and spreading my legs, providing better access so the cane can reach my center. He notices the shift and grants me my wish, landing a particularly intense strike on my pussy. And then he throws the cane to the side.
I explode on his fingers just a second later, my core still heated by that last intense blow. I‘m throbbing and clenching around him shamelessly as he fingers me, barely caressing my swollen clit.
"Good girl, very good girl," his soothing voice hovers over me as I tense around his fingers.
My vision is blurred and I can barely hear his voice, as wave after wave of euphoria robs me of my senses. I feel nothing but bliss resonating through my entire body, stirring inside my belly, my chest, all the way through my shivering limbs.
I would have collapsed onto the floor if he hadn’t caught me just in time. He wrapped his arm around my limp body, keeping his other hand at my center, applying gentle pressure as the last surges of the strongest orgasm I've ever experienced culminate in a grand finale.
Chapter 39
Laura
I'm not alone this time. His calm breath greets me when I open my eyes. He's holding me in a soft embrace, spooning me from behind, his warm breath tickling my neck.
Have I fallen asleep? Again?
I blink a few times, trying to gather my bearings. My memory is foggy. The last thing I remember clearly is succumbing to that overwhelming climax he forced out of me, the way I cried and moaned, too dizzy to maintain my composure. He caught me before I fell to the floor, and then he carried me to the bed, curling up next to me while I wept myself to sleep. I can feel the dried-up tears crusty on my cheeks, and I'm still overcome by exhaustion. Enduring the pain, the lust, the devastatingly beautiful orgasm – all of it has taken a toll on me.
Something broke in me. I feel as if he destroyed something within me, only to immediately rebuild it with something new, something stronger, a trait that has always been inside me but never saw the light of day until now.
As hard as it is to grasp, I feel like I've been reborn. I let go of something that had been restraining me from becoming who I truly am into the person I'm supposed to be. There's relief and a new sense of strength. What he did to me was horrifying, a pain so dire that I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it.
But I did. I made it through, and I was rewarded with so much more than I ever thought possible.
And I have him to thank for that. Ryan, my master. The man who's holding me in his strong arms right now, dozing calmly.
Is he really sleeping? The way he breathes suggests he is. I try to stretch, just a little as to not wake him up, but he moves nonetheless, mumbling something unintelligible as his arms tighten around me, his hands squeezing my tits.
"Mine," he whispers, pulling me closer.
He squeezes me so hard that it steals my breath. My sore skin presses against his hard body, and I'm painfully reminded of the harsh caning earlier.
And the orgasm.
I practically came while he was using the cane on me. The pain was stronger than anything he had inflicted on me before, but so was the mind-numbing bliss when it ended. He said he would make me love the cane, and he did. Even though I'd still argue that love may be too strong a word to describe my relationship with that devious stick.
My stomach is growling, and I hastily press my hand on it, as if trying to hush it. From behind, I can hear him chuckle and feel his body shaking against mine as he laughs.
"Orgasms make me hungry," I quote him.
"I can tell," he replies in a soft voice.
He squeezes me again, tickling me with a kiss on my neck. I pull up my shoulders and try to fend him off, but those efforts are futile. He decides I'm allowed to move freely, and instead of letting me go, he digs his teeth into my exposed neck, biting and sucking on my skin until I squeal in a mixture of amusement and pain.
"Master, that hurts!" I protest, but my words are accompanied by a giggle.
"Good," he says after letting go of me. "I want to leave as many marks as possible on my doll."
His embrace loosens, allowing me to turn around to face him. The first thing I notice are his incredible eyes. They are only half open, still heavy with weariness, but they are laced with something that could be mistaken for love.
Of course, that can't be. He can't love me. That's not what this is about.
I quickly cast the thought aside. My hazy brain shouldn't allow for such a ludicrous idea.
The second thing I notice is the stubble outlining his strong jaw. It‘s definitely more prominent and darker than I've ever seen on his otherwise clean-shaven face.
It‘s also the only indication of time available to me. It must be time for me to leave soon.
"How are you feeling?" he asks in a dreamy tone.
"Good," I reply. "Very good, actually."
"Was it too much?"
I shake my head, and a small grin eases onto my face. "No, master. It was perfect."
"I was very strict with you, but you earned it," he says, his index finger stroking across the side of my face. "You did great, doll. I'm very proud of you."
"Thank you, master."
I hesitate for a moment. I want to share my thoughts with him, but suddenly I feel shy about it. He might think I'm an idiot for feeling the way I feel. It sounds silly in my head, and it doesn't sound a lot better when I finally summon the courage to speak.
"I feel different," I utter, biting my lower lip as if to stop myself from saying anything more.
"Different how?"
"Hard to say," I murmur. "New, somehow. Like I've grown? Or changed? Something is different. I feel like something broke inside of me, and then it was put back together, but with like... stronger glue?"
I cast him a coy look and can't help but try to cover the implication of my words with a laugh.
"I'm
sorry, you must think I'm crazy."
I try to lower my eyes away from his fixated stare, but he stops me by placing his finger beneath my chin.
"No," he says, his gaze serious as he looks at me. "I don't think you're crazy. I understand what you're saying."
"You do?"
He nods.
"You went through something very challenging, confusing, new. It was tough, and it took a lot out of you," he says. "I'm sure it was overwhelming. I was there, I saw you experience it. I was the one who made it happen, doll. You're not crazy. You just learned something new about yourself."
I smile at him as his words wash over me with a comforting warmth. I've never felt so understood by anyone before. This man can see right through me. He likes whatever it is that he sees hidden behind the walls I’ve built up, the walls no one has ever been able to break down before. He knows me, and he understands me.
How am I ever going to go back to my old life? If anything, he's made it even harder now.
"I wish I could stay," I breathe, choking as I suppress the tears that threaten to emerge at the memory of our arrangement.
He creases his eyebrows, casting me a dark look, but he doesn't say a word. No warning, no reminder of never mentioning the reality of our situation.
"How long do we have left?" I ask, realizing that the question is a breach of our agreement.
He lets go of me in an instant, rolling to the other side and getting off the bed in a hurry. My heart sinks as I watch him walk to the door in wide, angry steps.
"Master, I'm sorry!" I cry out, bobbing up from the bed. "I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have-"
I don’t get to finish. I'm interrupted by the harsh sound of the door slamming shut behind him.
Chapter 40
Ryan
I can't catch a fucking break. I needed to get away from her. The way she looked at me was killing me. Those vibrant eyes, their emerald green color sparkling with desire, joy, and trust as she confided in me. She trusts me, she may even be about to fall in love with me.