Thoroughly Whipped

“You’re so wet, mon petit chaton,” he whispered and moved his fingers to my clit. I moaned out loud, my head falling back against his hard chest. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” I said, moving my hips to try to get his fingers to move. Maître pulled on my hair and his fingers stilled. “No!” I protested. “Don’t stop. Please!”

“One,” he said, his mouth at my ear. His lips ran up and down the side of my neck, his warm breath causing my skin to bump in its wake. “Do not give me commands. Ever.” The deep timbre of his voice held me captive, the tight fist in my hair keeping me firmly in place against his chest. “I don’t respond to orders.”

He pressed those soft lips of his to my hot skin, dusting whispers of kisses on my neck, the gentleness in stark contrast to the firm grip he commandeered in my hair. My fast breathing was loud enough to be heard over the operatic music playing all around us, the string section soft in melody and sweet in tone.

“And two,” he said, pulling my head so far back the back of my skull rested on his shoulder as his lips kissed my earlobe. “You will address me at all times as Maître. I am your master in this club. I am your sovereign, your leader and king. To not address me as such is disrespectful, and I do not tolerate disrespect in this chambre.”

“Yes, Maître,” I whispered, using all the breath I had left in my lungs. My eyes fluttered closed when his fingers moved from my clit to my entrance.

Maître kissed along my jaw, my legs turning to Jell-O as he pushed a single finger inside me. I cried out, leaning against him to keep from falling. “You smell like strawberries,” he said, pushing his finger in and out of me. “Of lychees and blossoms.” I moaned when he hooked his finger and hit my G-spot.

“Yes,” I whispered, and his finger stopped moving. “Yes, Maître,” I corrected. “It’s my perfume.”

“See?” Maître moved his finger again, adding a second. “For that you shall be rewarded.” I moaned. It felt so good. “I can teach you many things, mon petit chaton. Many things.”

His hand moved from my hair to my bustier. He freed my breasts, one by one, and my bustier fell an inch, to my waist. With one hand, he began circling my clit with his thumb. With his other hand, he rolled my nipple in his fingers. “I will teach you all of the things I like. You will obey me. In return, you will be pleasured like you have never been pleasured before.”

“Yes, Maître,” I said, my stomach tightening as my orgasm began to build. It was a rising wave, ready to crash into me. I needed more. He had just touched me and I needed so much more.

“You will submit to me. You will become mine and, in this chambre, I will own you.”

“Yes, Maître, yes!” I cried and arched my back when the fingers at my clit moved faster and the fingers inside me pushed at my G-spot over and over again. His minty breath ghosted over my face, and his hand palmed my breasts. Maître was everywhere all at once, no part of me unaffected by his presence.

“Come.” One single uttered command from his mouth and I shattered. I orgasmed so strongly it stole my breath and strength and the tiny morsel of inhibition I had left.

His hands didn’t stop, just pushed and pushed and drained me of all the pleasure I could muster. I bit my lip at the too-heady sensation until it became too much and my body jerked, unable to take any more. Maître slowed his fingers inside me, moving his other hand from my breasts to push my hair from my face and neck.

“That is just the beginning. You have no idea what is yet to come. What awaits you in my chambre with me.” I wanted it. Wanted everything he offered. “I will break you, mon petit chaton. I will break you apart and rebuild you until you live and breathe only for my touch. Oui?”

“Yes, Maître.”

“We will have fun, you and I,” Maître said, laying a final kiss on my neck before moving away from me. I placed my palm on the ground just to stop me from falling over.

Once he was towering over me, he ordered, “Kneel.” I knelt on the floor, straightening my back. I was wet and hot and thoroughly sated, and all he had used on me were his fingers, lips, and voice.

Maître moved back to his throne, and I noticed how hard he was. I lost my breath at the sight. As he sat back down, he said, “You will return to me tomorrow night at eight p.m. You will enter this room and kneel while you wait for me.” Maître reached into his silk pants and pulled out his dick for my viewing. My eyes widened as he began stroking it lazily, as if the action were nothing at all. I felt that ache between my legs begin to build again. “And you will bring with you a list of your hard and soft limits.”