Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Tell me requirement number two.” She added a second hand between his legs, fondling his balls while she twisted her wrist along his length, her heavy-lidded gaze clinging to his.
“Slave must—” A shudder rippled over him, his biceps flexing against the rope. “Service the Master. Slave’s body is prepared and—” His release coiled, tightening, threatening. “You have to stop.”
She leaned in and bit his lip. Hard. Consuming. The pang snapped his control, the build up tumbling over in a powerful wave of heat and sighing relief. His head dropped back on his shoulders, his body shaking in the constriction of rope.
As the bliss of his orgasm drifted from his muscles, he realized he’d closed his eyes. When he opened them, she stood above him, her cute little nose wrinkled in annoyance. He wanted to kiss it. His lips twitched. “Um. I guess I need to work on requirement seven.”
“No. Number seven is kneeling, one of the only fucking rules you haven’t broken.” She rubbed her eyes and glared at him. “Number three. Eyes down. Four. No clothes.”
“I’ve got number four covered.” He tried to check his smile, but his cheeks were persistent.
“Good job.” Her monotone response matched her disapproving stare.
Hard to believe he’d considered her vicious. With the set of her stubborn jaw and her lips in a plump flat line, she looked decisively non-threatening. “You’re adorable.”
She spun, striding to the locked cabinet where she kept her crops, whips, and paddles. “You’re patronizing me, you little prick.”
Oh, he’d really ticked her off. Her aggravation vibrated with the slap of her feet on the floor. He peeked at his lap, and the sight of his come tightened his chest with guilt. Dammit, he needed to try harder.
She unlocked the cabinet and returned with something he knew existed but had never seen in person. Shaped like a cone and made of black rubber or plastic, the phallic shape sent a shiver of dread down his spine. “No. No way. Go get the flogger.”
“I could beat you until you’re bruised and bleeding, but it’s ineffective.” She squatted before him, her pretty features etched in thought. “You know why?”
The ropes suddenly felt tighter, scratchier. “Because I’m a terrible slave.”
“The worst.” Her free hand drifted to his ball sac, reawakening his bottomless well of arousal. “How often did you get a woody after a hard hit at football practice or during an excruciating exercise?”
He shifted his weight on his knees, her question poking at experiences he’d never spoken aloud. Feelings he’d wanted to express but never had a tolerant ear to whisper them to. Until now. “On the farm…” He coughed, unable to loosen the discomfort tightening his throat. “Some of the grueling chores worked my body pretty good.” His muscles would burn with exertion, his penis would rub against his jeans. He met her eyes.
“It made you hard.”
As the room filled with weighted silence, he examined the expression softening the peaks of her lips and rounding the depths of her eyes. He knew her features wouldn’t harden and twist with judgment. “Yeah.”
She dipped her head, her breath tickling over his cheek, lifting her hand from his balls to toy with the hair behind his ear. “You get hard every time I punish you.” She kissed his jaw and nibbled on his ear lobe, whispered, “Kinky pain whore.”
Her teasing tone and the playful bite of her teeth on his neck exposed the girl she kept tucked away. His already excited heart hammered against his ribs.
“The problem is—” she turned her head to glower at him “—the whip lost its thrilling danger after the first time I used it. It takes you to an out-of-body place, and all that’s left is the thrill.” She held up the plug. “But this—”
“Is not going inside me.” His pulse accelerated, and his rectum contracted.
“It is.” She smiled, soft at the edges, but no less determined. “It’s up to you if I’ll lube it, if I’ll be gentle, if I’ll prepare you.” She licked the tip of the plug, wetting it. “Requirement number ten.”
His heart rate redoubled. Sweet mother, he didn’t know that one. Sweat beaded on his nape, and his pecs twitched, ready to fight.
“Shh.” She brushed a kiss on his chest between the crisscross of rope. “This is a new one. Slave will show gratitude for punishment and discipline.”
His lungs sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mistress.”
And just like that, their roles reverted. He understood why she rose and stripped down to her panties, why she tied a black kerchief around her nose and mouth, and why she gathered her composure into the unnatural stillness of dominance. It was her masked persona, the Deliverer who performed without mercy or emotion. To enforce the training. To deliver the punishments. To protect those she cared about.
But who protected her? Now he was one of the people she would come to defend. This certainty was a visceral grip of faith, and it filled him with a new sense of purpose. Her hidden expressions, costumes and nudity, and penchant for restraints were meant to disarm a slave. It was her cross to bear, and he would help her carry it.