Her World of Submission (House of Submission 3)

I let out a low moan and curled up my toes while the shock flared through me.

But I could take it. I wanted to see the six raised welts in the mirror. I wanted to feel the burning heat while he fucked me afterwards.

I wanted it.

‘Thank you, sir.’

The pain wrapped itself around me like an embrace. I allowed it to take me through three, four and five. I was winning. But Jasper was not my competitor; he was my team-mate. We strove together against everything that wasn’t us, everyone that found us disgusting or unnatural or pathetic. Together, we could hold out for ever.

‘Are you ready?’ he said softly, preparing for his final stroke.

‘Bring it on, sir.’

He laughed. He brought it on, and then some. I yowled like a stunned cat while the white bolt of pain coursed through me. But the cry was also one of triumph. I was bloodied (not literally, of course) but unbowed, beaten but unbeaten.

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shuddered beneath it, letting the shock travel through and out of my system. Once I was still, he bent to my ear.

‘Six more?’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Good girl.’

Fabric rumpled and tickled the back of my thighs, then my calves. Jasper’s trousers were coming down, his belt buckle jingling all the way.

My pussy was more than wet enough for him to push inside without resistance. I accepted him with gratitude, delighting in the thickness and fullness of the sensation. I pushed back, wanting my burning bottom to press against his skin so he’d feel the heat too, and I’d experience the divine agony of friction.

My heat joined us in another way. We had more points of connection, visible and invisible, than I could count. We were an entity, Jasper and I, an interlocking pair of halves.

Every other element of our surroundings whited out of my consciousness. Now I was aware of nothing but him in me, his skin pressing and sticking and peeling away from mine, his hands on my shoulders, then on my breasts, his fingers scissoring my nipples. It was as if we couldn’t get things hot enough, as if we needed to strike and strike the spark, to build the fire to a height previously unimagined.

My legs ached, then turned to jelly. He bit my neck and I moaned with pleasure as he sucked at it. The velvet of the stool prickled my pubis and rubbed now and then against my clit as Jasper thrust.

I remembered, just in time.

‘Please, sir, may I come?’

‘Uh huh’ was his grunted answer, showing me that he was as close as I was.

We were close together. I wanted to wait for him, but my body was ahead of me and I tumbled headlong into my orgasm.

I was a blur, crumpled into the footstool, when he followed me, keeping me sentient somehow within the frame of his limbs.

We both fell away and rolled on to the floor, ending up in each other’s arms. Our skin was slippery and my eyes stung with sweat. My bottom hurt, but I didn’t care. I liked it.

‘I love you,’ I said.

‘Because you were made for me,’ he said. ‘Let’s get married.’

It wasn’t the first time he’d broached the subject. It had come up two weeks earlier, when we visited his mother. I wanted him. I wanted to be with him always.

So why was I so scared suddenly?

‘I’m too young to get married,’ I said.

‘No, you aren’t. You can marry at sixteen, not that I’d recommend it. Come on, Sarah, why not really?’

I didn’t know. I lay on my side with my cheek pressed into the Turkish rug, staring at the mahogany chest of toys. This was my happy place. Why did he have to bring the onus of decision-making here?