Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3) - Page 20

“Does it? Remind me who you serve.”

She choked down another cry. “I serve you, Master.”

He spanked the backs of her thighs then, near the top where her tender flesh was so much more sensitive, and where there wasn’t much lingering damage to check him. Each blow burned like a hot poker from a fire. With a half-whine, half-cry, she tried to hold her position but it hurt so much. She pounded her palms against the floor in frantic agony.

“Who do you serve?” he asked, walloping her across both cheeks, right over the flange of the plug.

“I serve you, Master.” She practically screamed it. He gave her three more hard whacks and then stopped. He pushed her off his lap onto the floor, not in a violent way, but not gently either.

“Kneel in front of me. Sit up straight, back on your heels.”

She obeyed. When she moved to wipe away her tears, he stopped her. “Leave them. I like them. Now put your hands behind you and spread your cheeks again, nice and wide. So many tight, luscious holes, all of them available to me whenever I want. We are coming to understand one another, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Master.” She gingerly gripped her painful cheeks and spread them. Her toes curled against the floor. Her ass and thighs felt nuclear from the spanking and the plug felt twice as big inside her now. Since she had to hold herself open, there was no chance of her forgetting it was there.

“Don’t move,” he said, leaving the room.

What? Really? She waited, dreading, wondering what would come next. Since she’d reached behind her, her breasts were thrust forward, the chain between them dangling almost to her navel. He returned with a slender, whippy black crop. Valentina’s jaw constricted in panic as she stared at it.

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. Oh, Master. Please...it’s not enough yet? It was all she could do to meet his gaze, as scared and vulnerable as she felt.

“Keep your chin up,” he said, and then with a deceptively economical movement, he flicked the tip of the crop against the middle of her chest, between the vee of the dangling chain. She yelped, but before she could move or even draw breath to say more, he was dealing biting little flicks to her breasts also, underneath, above, all around. Each one made her jerk, but the barrage was so constant she couldn’t define exactly where she hurt. Before, the clamps had faded to a dull ache; now the pain was revitalized tenfold. She wanted to protect herself but she knew she’d get in trouble if she made any kind of defensive movements. She let go of her ass and made fists against her side.

“Are you holding your ass open?” he scolded. “No matter the pain, you must remember your instructions. You must obey.”

She reached back to part herself again, not certain if the shame or pain was worse. Oh, definitely the pain. The flicks continued, one after the other in an endless, horrible tattoo. Every once in a while he’d strike her hips or her belly but then he’d go right back to the shocking, stinging bites on her breasts.

“Oh, God,” she cried. Tears squeezed from her eyes but she didn’t dare do anything about them. They dropped down, hot and slick, onto her chest.

“Who do you serve?” he asked. His voice sounded terrifying. “Look at me and answer.”

She focused on him through the haze of her tears. “I serve you, Master. But...oh...”

“No buts. I’m barely hurting you. If this is too much—”

“It’s not too much!”

But it was almost, almost too much. He looked down at her over his aristocratic nose and started flicking her right on the nipples, one and then the other. She arched back, hating it but forcing herself to take the pain. One of the clamps was knocked loose, dangling down her front, and blood rushed to her tortured peak. In the midst of that agony, he managed to flick off the other one. While her nipples throbbed, the clamps slithered over her knee and onto the floor with a clink.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, never stopping his assault. She stared at his face, at the crop, at the full, hard cock outlined behind his tailored work pants, and did as he asked. The next blow landed right over her clit. She threw her head back and cried louder, tears flowing down her cheeks and past her ears.

“I find I am able to beat you after all,” he said, his tone light. Amused. “As long as I avoid your back. How does it feel?”

She couldn’t think of an answer. All her energy was focused on keeping her legs open when what she really wanted was to snap them shut. With a start, she remembered she was supposed to be spreading her ass cheeks. She wanted to please him. She wanted to be a good slave.

She spread her legs wider and closed her eyes, accepting two sharp flicks on each inner thigh. She clamped her mouth shut against frantic muffled noises as he continued. Left, right, left, right, then her pussy again. Her fingers dug into the flesh of her tender backside. That, at least, was a pain she could control. Oh, how she wanted to cover herself. Her arms shook from the need. Again and again he flicked her clit, sharp strokes meant to punish and not pleasure.

“Who do you serve?” he asked.

“I serve you, Master.” She could barely form the words. He dropped the crop and opened the front of his pants, releasing his engorged cock. Valentina watched as he rolled on a rubber.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, woodenly, blindly, gagging when he pressed the swollen organ toward the back of her throat. In, out, in, out. He held her head and forced himself deeper. When she choked, he drew away and picked up the crop again. Flick, flick, flick. Left, right, center. She gazed up at him, begging for respite. He paused, still holding the crop, and thrust into her mouth.

This time she tried harder. The face fucking was so much better than getting cropped on the insides of her thighs. She opened her throat and used her lips and tongue as best she could, but eventually she choked again and he drew away to resume the cropping. By this point, between the oral and the pain, she was going a little out of her mind. This is a test, Valentina. What are you made of? Don’t fail him. Don’t fail yourself.

Again, he stopped and brought his cock to her lips. She sucked him in a panic, still holding her ass cheeks wide. If she made him come, would this ordeal end? She deep-throated him for long, industrious moments, controlling her gag reflex. His pleased moans sounded in her ears, a balm to her frazzled ne

rves. As the fever of pain calmed, she allowed herself to appreciate the hardness and scent of him, the clean, musky smell. She was subsisting on very little air, drawing deep gusts through her nose, but still she sucked and licked his cock with all the abandon she could muster.

“Dieu,” he said, drawing away from her. She coughed as air rushed into her lungs. “Turn around.” He positioned her again on her hands and knees, her face to the floor. His hands replaced hers, spreading her cheeks wide. He held her hips and impaled her pussy with a deep groan. It felt so tight, almost unbearably tight with the plug still inside her ass. But, oh God, it felt so good too, so wicked. Her walls clenched and her whole body trembled with the need for release.

“Don’t come,” he warned. “Not until I say.”

No, she wouldn’t come, not ever, if he didn’t want her to. At this point, all she wanted to do was obey.

*** *** ***

Michel held his breath, counting slowly to ten in his head. He wasn’t ready for this to be over, but his cock was about to explode from the sensation of stuffing her tight, hot cunt.

“Jesus Christ, will you be still?” he bit out. He slapped the outside of her thigh, over the lone spank mark lingering there. Her ass and the backs of her thighs were uniformly red. He’d wanted to push her to her limits, past her limits. He’d wanted to assure himself that she didn’t have many limits, which seemed to be the case. He’d seen stronger women crack long before now. He had a feeling Valentina could endure another hour. Another day. Whatever he required. He groaned in his throat at that delicious thought.

He wasn’t going to ease up on her now, no matter how sweet her pussy felt. The first lesson was always the most important lesson—the breaking lesson, so to speak. He wanted her to leave off questioning and give herself to him completely. He wanted her to sleep tonight with one thought and one thought only in her mind. I serve my Master.

Michel steeled himself, drilling into her pussy without a care for her pleasure or her completion. Tonight, that was unimportant. Tonight was about showing her who was on top. He pulled out of her pussy and set about working the toy out of her ass. She was tight and small as hell and he had to go slowly. Once he had it halfway out, he started to piston it in and out of her sphincter. “Do you like that?”

Tags: Annabel Joseph Cirque Masters Erotic
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