His (5 page)

But she wasn't being given a choice. It was finding its way into her at his behest, over and over and over and over, whether she wanted it or not - and even though she certainly did like it, she wasn't allowed to show her appreciation until he said she could.

And, despite how hard he was making her body work to submit to his every whim, it was already throbbing and aching in time with his ministrations, making her blush all over when she caught a glimpse of herself, writhing and heaving, in the mirror. It was strange - he used them often, and, to a certain extent, she'd found a way to avoid looking a herself, or at least almost feeling as if what she was seeing happening to herself was actually happening to someone else.

Occasionally, though, there were those stark moments of reality where she realized that the woman in the mirror was her - that she was consciously letting him do these awful things to her. And it always served to heighten her sexual response, drawing out a long, low moan as she met her own eyes and saw the ultimate truth there. It nearly threw her over the edge she wasn't allowed to see yet, the one she always had to keep in check, always had to deny until he said the magic words.

"You may come."

Not you "can" come, but you may. Always within the frame of permission. He never missed a trick, or every possible small nuance of reminding her of his ultimate control, of her complete submission - especially at a time like this, when it could add its mojo to all of the other ways he incited her passions. He almost knew her too well.

Even though he'd acquiesced - and he didn't always - and been gracious enough to allow her to come to her completion, the feelings were somewhat buried - for the protection of her bottom - and it took longer than she would have wanted for them to come to the forefront again. The long minutes of his enthusiastic bathing of that very raw, very primed, almost painfully swollen bud had her teetering on the edge, but still unable to make that very last step off the precipice.

As usual, it took him talking to her. His voice had the power to make her submit when no implement could.

"I'm only going to give you another two minutes, Raina. If you haven't surrendered your pleasure to me in two minutes, you know what I'm going to do."

He'd only done it once. He'd only had to do it once.

When he gave her a time limit he wasn't kidding, and she knew it. If she took longer than he thought she should, he would have absolutely no qualms at all about slithering out from beneath her and using her position to his own advantage.

When he'd done it that one time, he'd given her twenty or so tremendous swats with the bath brush, then crawled beneath her again. She'd convulsed in his mouth within a few minutes, despite the fact that tears were streaming down her face and her bottom was nearly literally on fire. She'd worn the black and blue, oval bruises from that punishment for more than a week.

From that point on, she knew she never wanted him to count that last second again, and it was often that thought of certain punishment that helped her take that leap.

When she came, when she made that final, ultimate surrender to him, he brought her all the way through it, and then beyond. Her Master knew that she was multi-orgasmic, and rarely let her get away with anything less than three or four orgasms, right in a row. Her body was awash in pleasure - she felt every nerve from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, but mostly that delicate area that clamped firmly down on the invaders he'd planted inside her, reinforcing her submission with each galvanic, ecstatic clench.

Once every ounce of pleasure had been wrung from her body, and only then, did he pat her bottom gently and slide out from under her. Raina was often very drained from the orgasms he thrust upon her, and often he would simply lift her off the table and tuck her into their bed for the evening. Once he'd put her on the bed, she couldn't get off it again without permission - even if she had to wake him up to get it, except to go to the bathroom.

This time, though, he gave her a little time to recover, then reached for one of the canes that hung in plain sight on the bedroom wall. Raina didn't see what he was doing - her face was buried in her arms. The paradise he brought her affected her greatly in more ways than just physically, and she was still trying to come to grips with the heights he'd brought her to when she felt the first track sizzle across her vulnerable bottom.

Raina's back arched at an uncomfortable angle, but nothing compared to the searing line of flame he'd just laid down, and before she had a chance to acclimate to the first one, the second came crashing down. She could barely drawn in enough breath to scream, knowing the room was soundproof and not worrying about any consequences for doing so, when the third stroke landed on that sweet spot that would remind her of the experience each time she sat down for the next few days.

Two of the tracks criss crossed her upper thighs, then the last, the sixth, cut across her butt from top to bottom, interlacing with the previous ones there and setting them all afire anew.

Only then did he reach for her sobbing, writhing body and lift her into his strong arms, depositing her with every possible care on her stomach on the comforter, then tucking her gently beneath it, making sure that not even the silk sheet came into contact with her obviously throbbing bottom.

Her Master left her only long enough to complete his own evening ablutions, then shut out the lights and joined her there, tugging her to him so that she was draped along his side. She was still sniffling, and he somehow found that incredibly endearing. She'd never become jaded about her punishments in any way, and he heartily enjoyed the dichotomy of having caused those tears, yet needing to comfort her afterwards.

Raina lay her head on a thick pec, which made a surprisingly comfortable pillow as she felt the horrid, searing pain in her bottom very, very slowly convert to a dull ache. Master put his hand lightly over her rump, and she had to resist the temptation to try to wiggle out from under it, even though he wasn't doing anything that added to her discomfort.

His big hand was just... there, fractions of inches above her very sore spot, and Raina didn't much like the reminder. Her mind was adrift on endorphins, full of flashes of unbelievable pain and pleasure as she drifted slowly off to sleep, more secure and happier than she'd ever been in her life.

The man who had created this reality for her, who kept her in line, who orchestrated her life completely, and, in doing so, made it the most fulfilling thing she'd ever experienced, lay wide awake, holding her well into the night.

In an unusually affectionate move, he leaned down and kissed the top of her sleeping head. He had some decisions to make, and, in a manner that was contrary to everything that he was, he was avoiding making them.

But not any longer.

Chapter Four

Raina slammed her car door shut and stomped into the house. She was just about at the end of her rope. The day had gone horridly, and he hadn't been there to hear her complaints about it - not that he ever let her do much of that anyway, but it was the principle of the thing. She slammed the door in from the garage, and then slammed the refrigerator door when a quick, scowling glance yielded no cold bottle of Diet Coke. He restricted her intake of soda pretty severely and she was only allowed about two cans of it a week. But if ever any night deserved a chemically enhanced beverage, it was tonight.

She turned, ready to paw through the pantry to see if there she could dig one up there, and suddenly he was in front of her, holding her leather collar, which she would normally have donned in their bedroom while she shed her business clothes and became what she truly was.

Eyebrows already raised at her snitty behavior, he buckled the soft leather collar in the back, then quickly and efficiently removed every stitch of clothing she'd worn that day - folding it neatly and putting it on the counter for her to retrieve and put away later - and led her through the house towards his den, paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to all of the wide open windows and curtains. That was one thing that Raina had had a very hard time getting over. She was a very shy woman, and he had absolutely no consideration of that whatsoever when it came to trotting her around the house naked. Of course, the chance of anyone but staff seeing them wasn't very great, being that the estate was set well back from the road, but that idea was even worse! She could just see being dragged into court because they'd given their sixty something gardener a heart attack by flashing him in the big bow window.

She wondered where he'd come from - he wasn't supposed to be here until much later this evening. He always kept her informed of where he was going to be - almost as a reciprocal of the fact that he was always to know where she was and how to get a hold of her - and had told her this morning that he might be very late.

When he walked into the den, she stopped quickly, but he continued to walk, and she had no choice but to trail along reluctantly behind him. There was a man in one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs that faced the door as they came in, and he'd already gotten an eyeful of her.

Raina began to pull at her arm, trying to get him to let go of her so she could run and hide. He turned, almost mid stride, and gave her a look that she was most uncomfortably familiar with, and she ceased her tugging immediately. That look meant that she was going to get a lesson later about comportment, no doubt about it, and she didn't want to give him any sort of reason to punish her now, in front of the stranger instead of later, when they would be alone.

He brought her next to the man's chair, not letting her shrink back behind him as she naturally wanted to. "Daniel, this is my Raina."

To her horror, the man extended his hand to her, as if they were meeting in a board room instead of a situation where the smallest of them was stark naked.

Raina was just as happy to let the man's hand die there on the vine, but her Master was not. "Raina!" came the sharp correction.

She sighed, knowing that she'd just earned herself an even worse punishment whenever he decided to mete it out, so she forced herself to shake the man's hand, but released it quickly as if he'd stung her.

She fidgeted nervously from one foot to the other, trying not to look at the stranger, as if doing so would prevent him from seeing her, despite the fact that he certainly didn't look in the least threatening and she knew that her Master would keep always keep her completely safe.

The gentleman was older, probably in his fifties or sixties, Raina estimated. He wasn't fat but wasn't quite trim, and had a pleasant, rounded face that was surrounded by an immaculate white beard and mustache. He looked like Santa Claus without the belly. . if Santa Claus had a BDSM fetish.

Raina found her wrists cuffed matter of factly, and then she was led over to the usual heavy oak table he'd installed in the den just for her. It wasn't padded like the one in their bedroom, but then she didn't usually spend as much time in the den with him as she did in the bedroom. He lifted her onto it, and touched her shoulder, indicating that she should lie back.

To her great despair, the older man followed them, watching quite avidly as she was spread open, each wrist strapped to the top of a table leg, then her heels tucked close to her butt and ankles confined there, as well.

The last part of her bondage was a loop of leather around each knee that pried them well apart, exposing all of her naughty bits to two sets of eager eyes. Raina could feel the blush cascade over her body, knowing that they could see it, too, with the help of the overhead light he flipped on that she knew illuminated every line and nearly every cavity she owned. She'd seen the pictures.

Her eyes beseeched him to let her go, to cover her up - something, anything, so that she wasn't just lying there naked and splayed obscenely in front of a complete stranger. Although he'd met her eyes, and knew exactly what she wanted to ask but was too well trained to, he did nothing more than nod too her slightly and pat her skewed leg, offering no relief and precious little comfort.

Raina closed her eyes, which was another violation to add to the ever growing pile. She wasn't going to be able to sit for a month once he got through with her. She was told just seconds later to open them again, and she knew from his tone he wasn't happy that she'd ignored her training.

But she didn't have time to dwell on what she knew was coming, because the stranger was donning the same medical gloves her Master often used when he wanted to play a very nasty game of doctor with her. That was her Master, though, and this was a man she'd never seen before in her life who came to settle on a stool at the end of the table, directly in front of that part of her that was most private, even donning wire rimmed spectacles so that he could see that much better.

Since there was no rule - yet - that she had to watch what was being done to her, Raina tried to fix her attentions on the ceiling, which unlike most spots where she found herself like this, there wasn't a mirror staring back at her. But that was nearly impossible. She was used to being inspected. He'd certainly done it to her often enough, but this was an entirely different matter.

The man he'd called Daniel groped her gently, though, obviously trying not to hurt her in any way, poking and prying and almost but not quite playing. He seemed to have a great interest in her clit, which, to her complete dismay and horror, began to respond to his almost absent attentions. Her Master looked avidly over Daniel's shoulder, as if he was also seeing her for the first time. They spoke in low voices but not as if they were trying to keep her from hearing, but what they were saying didn't hold any meaning for her. They also moved up to play with her breasts, the stranger plucking and pulling her nipples into tight prominence, paying little attention to her reactions whatsoever.