How much more would he give her? How much more could she take? Her ass felt huge and hot, each stripe of the cane a throbbing weal. What she wanted more than anything was to be joined to him physically, to take his power and mastery into her body in the ultimate surrender. She wanted the memory of his possession, a memory she could treasure forever. She wanted to cry, “When will you fuck me?” but he didn’t want that. She understood that he didn’t want her demands and greediness, her horny weakness. He wanted her submission. He wanted her to be a pleasing, well-behaved slave.
So she gave him well-behaved. She groveled on the ground, ass up, hands still, his name on her lips. Master, Master, Master... He gave her five more strokes, solid, burning ones, and she accepted each one of them with a dignity that came from within, that she never really knew she had.
“My God,” he murmured when he was done, and she echoed him silently. My God, I never knew I had that in me. I never felt enslaved by someone until now. She’d scened with a few local men in the lifestyle, submitted to their barrage of toys and playthings, clamps and whips and handcuffs and ball gags, but it had never felt real. This man had brought out her deepest submission with one rattan cane. He lowered it beside her head and tapped at her cheek.
“You made a mess of this. Clean it up.”
Oh…wow. She opened her mouth and he inserted the tip, watching her lick and suck it in a shameless dramatization of what she wanted to do to his cock. Meanwhile, he placed a hand over her spread, exposed pussy. She almost bit off a piece of the cane when he thrust a finger deep in her cleft. His hand was so big, his finger so thick and long. She squeezed on it but she didn’t dare hump it the way she wanted to.
Then the finger was gone. She saw his boxer briefs hit the floor, and she heard him putting on a condom. She turned to see his thick cock jutting out from a thatch of dark hair. Her breath caught in anticipation.
“Are you done cleaning that off?” he asked, inspecting the cane. “Good. Now hold it between your teeth, to remind you about the perils of being greedy with Master’s cock.”
He drew her head back by her hair and made her open wide, and set the cane far back in her teeth so it acted as both gag and reminder. Don’t be greedy. Don’t do anything. Let him manipulate you.
He rearranged her on her hands and knees, still holding her hair so her chest was lifted off the floor. “Now, stay,” he said. “My pretty little plaything.”
And then he played with her, until her teeth ground against the rattan barrier in her mouth. He traced her sore cane marks, taking his time to study every one, then slid two fingers into her pussy. Then three. It wasn’t only the fullness that aroused her, but the aggressive, careless way he did it. She truly was his plaything, his toy to poke and explore at will. He didn’t touch her clit, which was certainly on purpose. “You’re so wet, little slave. So tight and hot and wet down there. What about here?”
He withdrew from her pussy and pressed a finger against the tight ring of her ass. She tensed but he drove it in anyway, using the copious wetness of her pussy to ease the way. She squirmed and twisted as he pressed deeper. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Whose pleasure do you serve?”
“Yours, Master,” Sara whimpered, going still. But oh…wow. He resumed his “pleasure” while she shook and accepted it. “Very, very tight,” he said in an approving voice, when she was fully impaled. “Nice and tight for Master. I wonder if you could handle two fingers?”
She waited in a silent panic as he withdrew the first finger and added another. She felt discomfort, stretching. A bit of fear. What if he tried to put his cock in there? She’d done anal before, but not with any guy as big as him. He slid his fingers out a bit and then thrust them back in, mimicking anal intercourse. She took quick breaths, biting on the cane. She was still trying to accustom herself to the invasion when she felt his cock at the entrance to her pussy.
Yes, yes, please take me. He eased forward, his cock stretching her pussy just as his fingers stretched her asshole. She felt so full, so controlled. She couldn’t cry or beg, or say anything, only make shuddering gasps past the implement in her mouth. He pressed all the way in, until she felt his thighs against the back of her legs. At the same time, he teased her asshole with his fingers, driving them in and out.
It was shameful, raunchy. And it was him, which made it wonderful beyond belief. The gorgeous, commanding Amerik was joined with her, something she’d wanted since she first gazed into his eyes. She tensed her ass cheeks, keening behind the cane. The stripes on her ass tightened and ached with the movement of her muscles. She turned to watch him fuck her, his rippling torso tapering to sculpted hips that banged against her cheeks.
Now that his cock and his fingers were both comfortably buried inside her, he fucked her faster, harder, so she never had any relief from the fullness of his possession. She braced her tethered hands against the floor and bit down on her gag. She wanted to stroke her clit but she didn’t dare, not without his permission. In some way it was the frustration and discomfort that fanned her arousal so high. She was a masochist. She got off on this.
“Please, Master,” she cried, her words distorted by the cane between her teeth.
“If you’re begging me for anything, you’re welcome to continue. But I’ll do exactly as I like, and I’ll let you come when I like. If I like.”
She danced on his hand, on his cock, his erotic puppet, and yes, it seemed he held everything in his hands, her desire, her will, and definitely her ability to orgasm. “That’s a good girl,” he said as she shuddered with the knowledge. He reached around and caught one of her nipples with his free hand, and squeezed it hard, twisting it. She threw back her head in agony, but her pussy clenched at the same time. He pinched the other nipple, brutally hard, brutally uncaring.
“You like that, don’t you? Being hurt? Being used for Master’s pleasure?” he asked. “I can feel you squeezing my cock. I want you to come hard enough for me to feel it. I want to feel your ass clamping down on my fingers too.”
All she could do was groan and obey him. He held her completely in his hands. One hand tortured her nipples as the other frigged her asshole. He pounded her pussy with his huge cock, pounded her so hard she had to brace against the floor. Master, Master, Master...that hurts. Please, hurt me.
Her submission and his mastery meshed together into one consuming flame and her orgasm arrived, torment and pleasure melting together. The cane clattered to the floor as she cried out at the power of her climax. This was worth it, surely, the loss to follow. Behind her, her Master reached his own completion, driving deep inside with shattering thrusts. She felt so much joy at satisfying him that she paid no attention to how rough he was.
It was pain. It was pleasure. It was service...and it had never felt quite like this before.
For a while they were still, shuddering together, gasping for breath. Then he ran a hand up her back and eased out of her, first the fingers in her asshole and then the thickness of his cock. She sank down to her stomach on the scratchy carpet, feeling empty. She heard him behind her in the bathroom, washing up.
She didn’t want to move, because then this would be over. She was the one who had insisted, one night, one time. She hated herself for that, but it was self-preservation. She heard him pulling on his boxer briefs and then his pants. Goodbye, beautiful cock. It was nice knowing you. He came to her, sat beside her and stroked her hair.
“So,” he said in a low, warm voice. “Real enough? How did you like that?” When she didn’t answer, his voice took on a note of concern. “Was I too rough?”
She rolled over and looked at him, but she didn’t say anything, because she was afra
id of the ridiculous, lovelorn things she’d say. He drew her into his arms, cradled her against his chest so her cuffed hands nestled between her breasts. She pressed her head against his shoulder, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. Ah, his hair was so soft, and it smelled so good. She sniffed it furtively, imprinting the scent of him in her memory.
“Struck speechless, are you? I guess that’s a good thing.”
“It was fun. Very fun.” It hurt to belittle their incredible scene, their incredible connection, with an adjective like “fun,” but it would hurt more to give voice to the depth of her feelings. He might see how infatuated she was, and how foolish. “Are you going to uncuff me?”
He drew back from her. “Not yet.”
“I have to go.”
“Not yet,” he repeated. He helped her up and drew her over by the bed. He sat on the edge of it and tugged her forward until she was standing between his legs. He was dressed now. Well, half dressed. His chest and muscles still beckoned her. She could have traced them for hours, never tiring of exploring him. He looked bemused when she finally dragged her gaze up to his.
“Still set on one time? I’m not trying to talk you into anything, but…you’re sure?”
She nodded, hardening her heart against him. He was leaving.
“I’ll be here a few more days. I work for—”
Her cuffed hands flew to his mouth. “Don’t. The more I know about you, the more difficult you’ll be to forget.”
The twinkle left his eyes, replaced by resignation. He drew down her hands and worked at the clasp between the cuffs. “Would you like to keep these? Or will they also make me too difficult to forget?”
“You have to keep everything.”
He unbuckled the first cuff, setting it on the bed. “That’s fine. I won’t mind remembering this. Remembering you.” He unbuckled the other one and paused. “You’re a very memorable person. A Mongolian woman who speaks English like a proper British person.”