His, Carolyn Faulkner [books to read to be successful .TXT] 📗

she was, legs splayed open, her womanhood pressed into his eager mouth, bottom stuffed and plugged tight, and pussy raped repeatedly by that huge pink dildo he favored for her. She had to struggle to accept that big dildo on a good day, when there was nothing else inside her, but with her rump already filled, she was finding it that much harder to do so.

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