She thought about slipping beneath the sheets and waking him with a blowjob. But he looked so peaceful sleeping. She didn’t want to disturb him. Not to mention, a slave girl probably wasn’t supposed to take such liberties.
A slave girl! She was just like slave m.! Wasn’t she, Dahlia Simon, living out the same fantasy now, with Master Hayden?
“Master Hayden.” She whispered the words, rolling them on her tongue. Could she ever call him that? She couldn’t deny a certain thrill as she repeated the words to herself.
Her clit had perked to attention, making its presence known. She licked her fingers and slid her hand down to her cunt. She was already wet. Hayden still snored softly beside her. Spreading her legs, she rubbed herself, careful to remain quiet so she wouldn’t wake him.
“Master Hayden,” she whispered again, watching him as she touched herself. What would he do to her today? What would he demand? What if he wanted to cane her? To whip her? To fuck her anally while she was tied down to the spanking bench? Even while her mind rejected these scenarios, her nipples hardened, her skin tingling with longing. She wanted to experience all these things—to find out firsthand what it was actually like, and if she had the courage and fortitude to handle it.
She closed her eyes, sighing softly as her pleasure mounted. She envisioned herself on that sexy bondage wheel at the Masters Club. It was turning slowly as Master Hayden stood behind her, flicking the cane against her ass. Each cutting stroke made her cry out in pain, but at the same time, her cunt throbbed.
More, she begged silently, the erotic pain moving like fingers over her body. More, more, more, Sir. Please.
She was close, so close. Her nostrils flared as she tried to keep her mouth closed so she wouldn’t moan aloud. Just as she was about to crest, she was startled by a hand closing around her wrist and yanking it from her sex.
She gasped, her eyes flying open in alarm. Hayden loomed over her. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was hard, his brows furrowed.
Frustrated to be denied release, she very nearly retorted, “Isn’t it obvious?”
But Hayden wasn’t smiling, and there had been nothing playful in his tone.
“You were asleep,” she tried instead. “I was just…scratching an itch.” She cursed the flare of heat scorching her cheeks, as damning as an outright admission that she’d messed up.
He arched a brow. “Did you conveniently forget that a Master controls his slave’s orgasm? Were you planning to wake me and ask permission at the crucial moment?”
“No, I mean, yes. That is, um…” She trailed off, hot tears pricking her eyelids.
Hayden released her wrist and sat up. He rubbed his face with his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes all over his head.
She experienced a sudden urge to giggle. At that moment, Hayden looked more like a little boy than a stern Master. It occurred to her she wouldn’t mind a timeout from the intensity of this experiment of theirs.
Could you do that? Take a timeout in the middle of a power exchange, and then resume the intensity after a large, relaxed breakfast of blueberry pancakes and bacon—a breakfast where you sat at the table like a grown-up, instead of being relegated to a cushion at your Master’s feet?
She was about to ask when Hayden snapped, “It’s clear you need a lot more training.” He rolled from the bed and got to his feet. “But first”—he reached for her arm, pulling her to the edge of the bed—“you need to be punished.”
“Wait,” Dahlia cried as he pulled her upright. “I didn’t mean to—”
He placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. “No excuses, Dahlia. You’ve tallied up quite a list of transgressions, including last night’s failure to ask permission before climax, and now this. You will take the punishment you’ve earned, and we’ll move on from there.”
Punished. Her sexy Master was going to punish her…
And just like that, she was back in proper sub girl headspace, all thoughts of a timeout forgotten.
He led her out of the bedroom and into the hall. Shit. She’d completely forgotten about asking for permission last night. She wasn’t sure she’d even have been able to, not when he was doing such heavenly things with his lips and tongue.
But she’d known—of course she had—that she was breaking the rules the moment she’d climbed out of the bed to pee. That was bad enough, though she probably could have gotten away with it. But when she’d masturbated, she’d definitely stepped over the line.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d done it. Had it been a way to test the envelope and see what she could get away with? Or was she not as into the proper slave mentality as he wanted her to be?