Master Me (35 page)

“I’m not sure how much longer I can stay like this,” Helen said, hearing the desperation in her voice. “
Please
, Connor. My legs are hurting.”

“Yes, we need to work on your fitness,” Connor said. He continued to play with her breasts, slapping them gently and watching them sway, pinching her nipples sharply now and then. “I’m thinking of turning one of the rooms downstairs into a small gym. Both of us could use it in the normal way, of course, but I can certainly see some alternative uses for all that equipment. Ten minutes on the treadmill wearing clamps and weights on these pretty nipples would feel like much longer and if you flagged, I could apply some encouragement. Did you know that we have a birch tree in the garden? More than one, in fact. Not that a birch rod is actually made with wood from the birch tree. Did you know that?”

Helen gasped as he squeezed both nipples at once, rolling them between finger and thumb. “N—No, I didn’t.”

“Willow is one choice, though the wood that inflicts the most pain is hazel. We have those in the garden, too. We must cut a few suitable branches from all three and experiment. Such a traditional form of discipline.”

His fingers delved between her legs, pinching her clit with a teasing, deceptive gentleness. Helen cried out, her eyes squeezed shut. Her legs were trembling but the fire in her muscles was nothing compared to the sensations washing over her at Connor’s touch.

“Please, oh God, Connor, please. I’ll come, I can’t help it, please don’t touch me.” She gulped back a sob and felt her hips tilt helplessly forward, chasing his hand even as he withdrew it. The movement almost cost her the inch or so of his cock that she’d been permitted and she jerked back sharply.

“Don’t touch you?” he asked, the words full of polite incredulity. “My sub’s telling me that I’m not permitted to touch her?”

“No, I didn’t mean that, it’s just that I’m so close…” She wanted to throw back her head and howl at the moon, fucking herself on his cock until the ecstasy hovering so close crashed down over her, but she wanted to please Connor even more than either of those.

“You don’t have my permission to move or to come,” he told her with an uncompromising glint in his eyes. “I want you to stay just like this while I touch you as much as I like. You’re allowed to cry and beg if it helps, but nothing you say will affect what I do. Do you understand?”

”
Yes
, Connor,” Helen said in a tense whisper honestly scared that taking a deep breath would be enough to trigger her climax. “Yes, anything you want, anything. I’m yours, all yours.” Tears were filling her eyes, trickling down her face and her cunt was so wet that she could feel moisture on her inner thighs. She was a mess, a flushed-faced, wild-haired mess, and Connor didn’t care, she knew that he didn’t, because he’d made her look like this.

“Yes, you are,” Connor said with a nod. “Remind me tonight to punish you for interrupting me.”

“Yes, Connor.” She was going to count how many times she said that tomorrow, treasuring the number as much as she treasured the strokes he administered to her curved, taut arse.

He went back to tormenting her, brushing his fingers over her mouth then pushing them inside for her to suck before putting them, wet with her saliva, on her bruised, hot nipples or the slippery bud of her clit. Helen stopped listening to the clamour of her body and concentrated on Connor’s face, studying it feature by feature to distract herself from the merciless attentions of his hands. The week in the San Francisco sun had given his normally pale skin a hint of tan and there was a nick on his chin where he’d cut himself shaving. She was close to counting his eyelashes, her breath coming in hoarse pants, when his hands left her.

“Ride me again, but slowly this time. Up and down counts as one and I’d like you to repeat that ten times.”

Helen was torn between relief and trepidation. Moving would be bliss, as would getting to feel Connor’s cock deep inside her, but could she last that long without coming?

She said, “Yes, Connor,” the words barely audible over the thud of her heart and sank down on him as slowly as she could. Counting in her head, she rose and fell, anguished, ecstatic words spilling from her without her being aware that she was saying them.

She managed eight then broke, her cramped, numbed hands releasing their grip on each other to form fists as she shuddered her way through a climax that had hit without warning, sweeping over and through her, white-hot, intense. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see, sparks and flashes obliterating her view of Connor’s face, screwed up as he followed her over. He was holding her hips now and thrusting up into her, fucking her with a pent-up ardour that made her realise that she wasn’t the only one who’d been pushed to the edge.

He gathered her to him, and let her stretch out on top of him, their hearts hammering wildly, their breathing ragged.

“You almost made it,” Connor said eventually. “To be honest, I didn’t expect you to make it that far.”

Helen had been expecting a scolding. She lifted her damp face from his shoulder and caught a glimpse of his profile. “Does that mean that I don’t get punished?” She watched him smile and heard him chuckle.

“Oh, Troy. You’d hate it if I said ‘yes,’ wouldn’t you?”

Helen smiled too, even though he couldn’t see her, already wondering what he’d dream up to do to her. “Yes, Connor.”

[Back to Table of Contents]

From the corner of her eye, Helen could see Connor, his hands busy testing the cuff wrapped around her wrist and linked to the headboard of the bed, with a chain clipped to a hook for an easy release. The cuffs at her ankles and other wrist had already been checked and she could feel the distractions of the day begin to dim, her focus narrowing, sharpening to this moment, here on this bed, naked, held open.

Her body was a scream of longing, but she’d learnt over the last few months to crave that wanting as much as the climax that she’d soon be begging for. Connor had sat beside the bed earlier and watched her use a vibrator on herself for endless minutes, his voice implacable as he told her where to touch herself and for how long. She’d been flinching, squirming desperately as she brought the tip of the vibrator to her nipples, the swollen bud of her clit, sliding through the slick wetness to dip inside her an inch, then two, before he made her push it deep and hold it there. The dull buzz had built until she could feel it hum through her body, the impersonal efficiency of the vibe a torment. Connor’s eyes had told her how much he was enjoying watching her and she’d felt the connection between them as if it were as tangible as the ropes he sometimes bound her body with.

When she’d been panting, sweat dappling her body, her hands trembling as she tried to force them to obey the drawled out commands, taking her closer to the moment when she’d disappoint him by climaxing too soon, he’d reached over and knocked the vibe out of her hands, his eyes glittering. After he’d twisted it off, quietness surged back into the room and Helen caught her breath on a sigh as Connor’s mouth found every teased, tweaked-to-arousal place on her body and soothed it to silence with a kiss.

He could do this for hours, work her up and bring her down, over and over, until a point was reached where he decided that it was time to move on. Helen was never sure where that point lay, but that didn’t matter when Connor did.

Connor shifted off the bed and glanced at her. “How do the cuffs feel?” he asked.

Helen tried to curl in on herself, a slow, gradual movement, and found, not to her surprise, that she couldn’t move much at all. The confirmation of how securely she was held in place was like a hug, welcoming, comforting. She smiled up at him. “Fine.”

His fingers brushed against her ear, her mouth, her half-closed eyes. “I’m going to take your senses away,” he told her. “Leave you with nothing to do but feel.”

She nodded, a unspoken agreement to what he had planned, and opened her hand. With her mouth gagged and her eyes blindfolded, letting him know if she was in distress would require a substitute for a safe word, and Connor, who preferred a simple solution where possible, just gave her the back-door key to hold, a heavy, solid piece of metal. If she dropped it, given the position of her hand, it would fall to the wooden floor with a clang that would be impossible to miss. She released it, heard it hit the floor and bounce twice, the sound intrusive and sharp, and nodded again. When the key was returned to her hand, she held it tightly, the cool metal warming against her palm. It wasn’t her only way to signal that she needed to stop the scene, but it was the simplest.

Her hearing went first, the plugs eased in carefully, leaving her with an odd sensation of falling and the need to swallow hard. Next was sight, the familiar room becoming a vast, dark void, every sliver of light thwarted by the blindfold. Connor paused, allowing her time to adjust, then tapped her lips to tell her to open up.

The ball of the gag was smaller than some Connor used, but large enough that Helen knew she’d be reduced to muffled grunts if she tried to speak, drool trickling out of the side of her mouth. Messy, but liberating, too, as much as the tears that would pool and spill without Helen being aware of why she was crying. Tears and spit, come and sweat…and the soft liquid spill from her cunt easing the way for Connor’s fingers, tongue and cock—or whatever toy he pushed inside her.

She lay in the quiet darkness, displayed, offered up to Connor’s touch and gaze, and waited without impatience for the stroke of a finger, the biting kiss of a strap or the warmth of his come if he chose to jerk off on her, spattered over her skin, marking her with his scent. He’d leave it there, smeared over her skin, drying to an itch that was a reminder she didn’t really need. She knew who he was, who she was…and it wasn’t the collar she wore these days that told her that, but every time Connor looked at her, his eyes filled with a contentment she’d put there.

The dragged rasp of a struck match couldn’t penetrate the plugs, but she could smell the match burning and, unscented or not, the melting wax of a candle.

She tensed, anticipating the flash of pain, quickly fading, when the candle was tipped, melted wax dripping down over her tight, hard nipples or into the hollow of her hipbone, but Connor surprised her with cold instead, a slippery, blunt-edged ice cube that burned as fiercely as the wax would have done, painting swirls like frost patterns over the soft skin of her inner arms.

Her calm shattered as that was followed by the lash of a whip, falling lightly across her thighs, the scrape of a feather’s quill across her belly, writing love words in scarlet, imprisoned blood rising to the surface as he scratched her skin, never breaking it. She could still smell the candle, but that didn’t mean that he would use it…it could be there simply as illumination, the other lights turned off after she’d been blindfolded, or because he liked the play of wavering shadows and light across her skin.

With a choked sob that emerged as a garbled sound, she stopped trying to guess what would come next and searched instead for acceptance, complete and unquestioning.

Connor must have seen the change in her, the minute relaxation of muscles, the stillness replacing her restless, if restricted movements, because he gave her time to settle, holding still himself until the only way that she knew she wasn’t alone was her utter trust that he would never leave her like this, ever.

A tickle of disturbed air was the only warning she had before his teeth fastened over her nipple, tugging at it sharply until she screamed for him, the gag filtering the sound so that it emerged as a plaintive howl. Tears, hot, salt tears, sprang to her eyes and behind the blindfold, she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on the pain, desperate to find its borders so that she could contain it. It was like trying to hold water in her cupped hands. She gave up and gave in, finding acceptance again after a struggle, and being rewarded by a melting sweetness as the throbbing from her bitten nipple became pleasure, not pain. Connor stopped biting and took the nipple into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue and sucking at it gently even as his fingers pinched her other nipple mercilessly tight.

Between one breath and the next, she lost all sense of time as a succession of passing moments. She was in darkness, floating, always had been, always would be, nothing else. She could taste tears in her throat and smell Connor as he knelt over her, naked now, from the brush of his thigh, his belly, the hot hard jump and prod of his cock, but that input was wound around the contentment filling her, the perfect, encompassing pain, and became part of it.

Connor’s hands and mouth were more urgent on her now and she felt the head of his cock nudge against her sweat-damp skin, her leg, her cunt, slick with moisture, full and ripe, and finally her stomach, come spurting, spattering her skin with warmth.

She sighed around the gag, her own climax waiting for her, whenever Connor told her to come.

She hoped that it wasn’t soon. Waiting was the best part.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Jane Davitt is English, and has been living in Canada with her husband, two children, and two cats, since 1997. Writing and reading are her main occupations but if she ever had any spare time she might spend it gardening, walking, or doing cross stitch.

Jane has been writing since 2005 and wishes she’d started earlier. She is a huge fan of SF, fantasy, erotica, and mystery novels and has a tendency to get addicted to TV shows that get cancelled all too soon.

She owns over 4,000 books, rarely gives any away, but is happy to loan them, and is of the firm opinion that there is no such thing as ‘too many books’.

Email: [email protected].

Jane loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.total-e-bound.com.