Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet 1)

The light in my head exploded through my body like a super nova, drenching me in golden oblivion. I came so hard I only existed as burst particles, loosely held together in Alexander’s exacting hands and by his talented mouth.

My mind was still floating, my pussy still spasming when he drove his thick cock straight to the end of my pussy. My dazed eyes spun in my head and then settled on the mirror over his shoulders.

I could see his buttocks, carved and full like perfect half-moons, flex as he thrust into me. I wished my hands were free so I could cup him there and feel the strength and the suppleness of his golden skin under my touch.

He pushed me farther into the bed with his hips and spread my legs up and wide with palms on the insides of my thighs.

I was lewdly displayed in the mirror, and I realized that was his intent, so I could watch his ruddy sink into my glistening pink pussy with each and every hard kick of his hips.

I screamed as his tip nudged my womb, the bruising push of it spiraling my mind even further into outer space. My orgasm went on and on, softening slowly like the tide after a tsunami until I was limp but aware Alexander lay on top of me. Outside, my cunt grasped against nothing as his cock lay still hard on my thigh.

I wanted to protest that he hadn’t cum because somehow that seemed vital to me. Was I good submissive if my Master didn’t come?

But then I noticed he was stroking my hair.

I froze, my breath arrested in my lungs like amber.

My eyes scoured his face for answers to the tenderness, but all I found was the perfect symmetry of his aristocratic features, the plushness of his lower lip, and the bow of the top. There was stubble lining his strong jaw like flakes of pure gold, and his long eyelashes looked like spikes of precious metal over his storm cloud eyes.

I could read nothing in his face.

Unless he wanted it to be, there was nothing there ever.

I’d never seen a man with a face so much a mask.

Truth be told, it made my empathetic heart ache for him. What kind of life had he led that made him so removed, so callously reserved?

“I’ve never seen more inquisitive eyes,” he murmured as he looked down on me. “A golden palimpsest of questions. What will you ask the hawk first, little mouse?”

“Why didn’t you come for me?” I asked even though the question burned as it left my throat.

His smile spread slowly over his face, and he was close enough for me to watch how it changed his eyes from pewter to light grey and how it hooked from one side of his mouth and pulled through to the other.

God, but he was such a beautiful beast.

I had thought I’d known beauty before but never like his. Never a handsome so powerful it hurt the eyes, not a man so beautiful he could weaponise it.

“I didn’t come for you because that is not always the purpose of our play. Sometimes, it’s to teach you a lesson, sometimes to reward you for good behaviour, and sometimes, it will be about good old fashioned power dynamics. You just came like an eager little wanton while I was controlled enough to stave off. How does that make you feel?”

I knew the blush wouldn’t show on my skin, but my cheeks burned with shame. “Like a whore.”

“Mmm,” he acknowledged with a very slight, smug grin. “Only ever for me.”

“You seem to enjoy this, being cruel one moment and sweet the next. It’s driving me even crazier than the isolation in the ballroom did,” I admitted to him, staring at his fingers as they twirled a piece of my silky hair.

I watched as his eyes turned over from sun-shaded silver to the dark side of the moon, pocketed with craters and tortured mysteries. He stared as his fingers in my hair as if the strands held the answers to all of life’s questions.

“I was raised to be a Lord and a Master. My father and his… friends trained me from a young boy to be ruthless in my perusal of pleasure and power, in dealings with money, society, and especially women. I’m not sure if I would have been born with the inclination to stripe a woman’s ass with a cane, but isn’t that the endless question of nature versus nurture?”

“I think you like it,” I whispered, because this transparency between us was new, and I didn’t want to tear the paper as I careful traced his edges. “You like to hurt me.”

“Yes,” he agreed as his other hand slinked up my torso, between my breasts to collar my throat. “I love to see your body exposed and shaking under me like a stripped wire. I would do this to you even if I didn’t have to.”