Bound to Submit

Back flat and parallel to the ceiling, toes pointed straight down at the floor, the position was like sitting in chair while bent over and holding onto her ankles. And it sent her endorphins flying.

“Head up,” he said. “Hold that. I’m binding your hair, too.”

She let out a little moan as he worked, using rope to make a long, thick column out of the length of her hair that he connected to something above her. Now she had no choice but to look up, to see what was all around her as she spun.

“Fuck, you look amazing,” he said, examining his creation. Examining her. “Point your toes for me, baby.”

She did, feeling the flow and the intention of the position. And it was a position that revealed Griffin’s brilliance, too, because her arms were fully bound, but the ropes weren’t putting any pressure on her limb at all.

“Damn. Yes. That’s it. Right there. That’s what I want from you on Sunday night.”

“Master?” she managed.

“Yeah,” he said, crouching right in front of her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Sir. But would you please take a picture? I want to be able to study this. And I’d like—” She cut herself off, not sure what she was trying to ask.

He caressed her cheek. “What would you like?”

“I’d like to try to see what you see,” she finally said.

“I see beauty, Kenna. I see surrender. I see a woman bound to submit to me, and me alone. I see you,” he said, his voice full of a sexy intensity. But he gave her what she asked for, taking pictures from every direction. And, damn, she hadn’t realized how that would add to her arousal. Because knowing he was photographing her was making her even hotter.

He held his phone in front of her face, letting her see one of the pictures. “Do you see? Tell me how beautiful you look.”

“I...”

“Say it, Kenna. Tell me what you see.” His voice was urgent with his pleading.

She did look amazing, but embracing that was poking and prodding at things inside her that hadn’t fully healed since she’d lost her arm. “It’s amazing,” she managed.

“Mmm. Yes you are.” He disappeared from in front of her. And then, without warning, the tails of his floggers came down across her ass. Then her upper back. Then the outsides of her thighs. She was warm and needy, pliable but tense, and so close to orgasm that she tried to squirm to find even some friction for her exposed cunt. But there was none.

She cried out. “Master Griffin, please!”

“Please what?” The tails moved back to her ass again.

“Please may I come?”

“No,” he bit out. “Not until you’re filled with my cock.”

The words just made it worse, which he no doubt knew. “Oh, please!”

“No. I mean it, Kenna. If you come, I’m giving you ten strokes of the leather paddle. Hold it,” he said, that stern Dom voice adding to her urgency even as the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t.”

He flogged her low on the ass, and the tails stroked her pussy just once.

The orgasm exploded through her. She cried out—in pleasure and fear.

He left her swinging for a long moment, and then he crouched in front of her again. Except this time, his expression was angry and disappointed. And it absolutely devastated her.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.” Tears gathered in her eyes and she swallowed thickly. She’d just wanted to be perfect for him. To be what he needed. Just once.

“I know, little one. I know you are. What did I tell you to do?” His dark eyes blazed at her.

“Hold my orgasm,” she gasped.

“And what did you do?”

“I came,” she whispered, tasting tears on her lips. She was crying. After all this time, she was crying.

“And are you going to come during the demonstration when I tell you not to?” His eyebrow arched.

Oh, God, she hadn’t thought of that. How her failure would reflect on him. “No. No, I promise.”

“Good. I’m glad. But I still think you need the reminder.” He held up the black leather paddle.