Own Me

I'm still adjusting to the feeling, coming to grips with feeling two opposite and intense sensations at once, when the ice lifts off my breast and I hear Gio turn away. I have just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief before he's back again, this time trailing something along my inner arm, something feather-light and...

No. Just that. A feather.

Shit.

I'm not extremely ticklish, but I'm definitely sensitive to light touches in certain areas. And it's only a matter of time before he finds mine. I tense my body, steel myself for it, but even with my bracing, I can't help but jump when the feather skitters across my ribcage, just under my breasts.

"This a sensitive spot for you, darling?" The feather retraces its steps, hits me there again, and I jump once more, gasping faintly. Then, without warning, the feather vanishes, and his fingers clamp hard around my nipple.

My lips part wide in an O of shock.

"I asked you a question, slut."

"Y-yes, sir," I stammer, my head reeling with the sharp ache. And yet, I feel my nipple getting harder under his fingers. A deep ache starts in my belly, my clit seems to get heavier, oversensitive with longing.

He releases my nipple, and there's another, less intense rush as sensation–and a lot of blood–flows back into it. I squirm again, especially when he brushes the feather right over that same nipple, intensifying the pins-and-needle feeling. "Tell me what you're feeling. Do you like this, you little whore?"

"I love it, sir," I gasp in response, surprising myself. I shake my head a little, trying to clear it enough to regain my ability to speak. "I love the way you use me for your pleasure. I love the way you aren't afraid to test me, push me to my limits. Sir," I add, after a moment's hesitation.

Not fast enough. That pause earns me a sharp slap across my upper thighs, followed by another kiss from the feather, which only makes me wetter, and more on fire.

"That ‘sir’ shouldn't be an afterthought. It should be ingrained. Second-nature. Do you understand me, Corbella?"

"I do, sir," I reply, resisting the urge to leave it off again, just to see how far he'll take that punishment. Plenty of time left for that, I remind myself.

"So, you enjoy being used. That's good." The feather trails up my body, all the way along the side of my neck, where it falls beside my face, resting against my shoulder as he lets it go. "That's good. Because I intend to use you."

There's a sharp snap, and then the release of my ankle restraints. Before I can react, he lifts me up, flips me around beneath him. My arms twist over my head, the restraints just long enough to keep my hands bound, my wrists folded around one another somewhat uncomfortably. I forget the discomfort soon enough when he pulls me onto my knees, pushes my face down into the pillow beneath me.

My hips and ass stick straight up into the air, easily accessible for him to do whatever he wants. I am starkly aware of my vulnerable position, of how easily he could take me right now. I feel a warm trickle of warmth as I start to get wetter, thinking about just that.

The bed shifts as he positions himself behind me and runs his hands over my ass in a smooth caress. This feels appreciative, almost reverent. Like he's taking time to enjoy what I have to offer, before he fucks me senseless. Even so, I tremble in anticipation, yearning for his thick cock inside me, filling me to the hilt.

“I need to make sure that you remember your lesson, Corbella. I need to be sure you never forget to address me properly again.”

His voice is a purr, a deep, throaty caress against my cheek. My eyes flutter closed, and it takes every ounce of concentration I possess to listen to what he’s saying instead of just floating on the sound of his voice, so close to me. “I understand, sir,” I whisper, once I’ve thought through what he said. I know what it means. What comes next.

My punishment.

And I can’t deny that I’m getting wetter thinking about what he might have in store for me in that regard. I try to sneak a glance over my shoulder, but I don’t even have that long to wait.

Before I can catch my breath, he slaps me full across the ass, his palm stinging against my sensitive skin. I clench my teeth and suck in air, turning my face toward the pillow once more, determined not to cry out, not yet.

“Count,” he says, as he slaps my ass again, right on the same spot, a little bit harder this time. My hips jerk forward with the hit, and it takes me a second to collect my thoughts enough to respond.

“Two,” I gasp into the pillow.

He slaps me again. “No. You start at one. Try again.” Another slap, and this time, I can’t help gasping softly.

“One,” I count.

I make it to five before I groan in pain. By the time I count off ten, I’ve buried my face in the sheets, and I have no shame about crying out with each strike. My ass feels sore, bruised, aching. And yet, there’s a kind of release in this, being utterly powerless, knowing he is in control of not only my pleasure, but my pain as well.

When I gasp out the word ten, his body shifts behind me. I feel him caress the edges of the bruise he undoubtedly just left on my ass. Then his lips brush over the spot too, kissing my ass softly, exploring the spot he just struck.

Opposite sensations. Pain and pleasure. The intensity of his spanking made my ass so sensitive that his kisses feel like sparks flying across my skin, igniting me. I moan into the sheets with pleasure this time, especially once he brings up both hands to stroke the cheeks of my ass, trace up over my hips and back down, gently massaging.

When he draws back, we’re both breathing hard, and I can feel a trickle of wet desire working its way down my inner thigh.

“God, you look so fucking beautiful with my bruises on your ass,” he murmurs, leaning back to appreciate me. I arch my hips back toward him, hoping this will be it. The moment that finally pushes him over the edge into pure desire. Because right now, I want him to fuck me, more than ever.

I feel something brush over my pussy, sliding up my slit, and I lean back into him, excited. But then I realize it’s too smooth, too round to be his cock.

I only have enough time to process that before the egg-shaped vibrator slides into my pussy. I gasp as it stretches my walls at its widest point, making me ache. But he’s relentless–he pushes it deeper, deeper, until it stops against my cervix, the point of the egg resting against the deepest part of me.

I squirm, trying to readjust my hips, get used to this. That’s when he turns it on.

I can’t help the cry that escapes me, pure shock. Because the roundest part of the egg is pressing right against my G-spot, and that, combined with the tip resting against my cervix, makes my whole body shake with the sensation. It’s intense–way too intense for me to not come, and soon. I’m already ramping up toward an orgasm, panting, my hands fisted around the leather straps.

Then Gio leans over me and brushes my hair back from my face, cupping my chin with one hand to tilt my face toward his. “Don’t come,” he says.

“What?” I pant.

He slaps me again, right over the bruised spot. Intense pleasure and sheer pain, all at once. I shut my

eyes, grinding my molars together.

“What, sir?” I revise, barely able to get the words out. Fucking hell, I am so close to coming.

“I said, do not come,” he repeats, louder. His voice takes on that commanding tone again, and I don’t know how the hell I’m going to obey him this time. The egg just feels too fucking good.

But I have to do what he says. So I clench my thighs together and bite my lip, pulling back on my arms so my wrists dig into the restraints. The pain distracts me a little, somewhat. Allows me to balance at the edge of an orgasm without quite falling over the side.

“How… long… sir?” I manage to pant in between twisting my hips side-to-side to try and accommodate the egg in a less intensely pleasurable spot.

He’s having none of that. His hands clamp around my hips, holding me in place. “You may only come when I tell you to.”

“But… sir…” I grimace and push my face against the sheets. My arms, legs, every part of me have started quivering. I’ve never fought off an orgasm before. I’ve always dived right over the edge of my climax. This is harder than I imagined.

“Yes, slut?” In contrast, he sounds perfectly fine. Calm. Amused, even. Damn him.

“I’m so close,” I groan. “It’s… I can’t stop it…”

“You’d better, unless you want another spanking,” he answers. His hand brushes my ass, right over the bruise. My whole body jumps in response.

Shit.

“Please,” I gasp. “Please, please let me come, sir.”

“That’s better…” He tilts my head up again, forces me to make eye contact. It’s hard, since keeping my eyes open and focused is a struggle right now. But I make myself meet his gaze since I know it’s the only way I might be able to win him over. To win a reprieve from this.

“Please, sir,” I repeat, gazing directly into his eyes.

His mouth quirks into a faint smile. “You may come, slut.”

I don’t wait for more details. My eyes flutter closed and my mouth drops open as I cry out with sheer pleasure, my body shaking as I let the orgasm sweep through me. It lasts longer than I expected, and it’s sharper, too–a product of being withheld for as long as I waited.