He blinks, then a chuckle bursts from his throat. "Cute," he murmurs, "but it’s not going to distract me from what I want."
"And wh … what is that?"
"You." He lowers his head until his mouth is directly in front of mine. "Your lips, your breasts, your pussy, your ass… It’s all mine."
"Fuck you," I spit out.
"With pleasure." He holds my gaze. "But first, I need to tie you up."
"No, no, no, goddamn you." I surge up against him, but this time he is better prepared. He applies enough pressure on my throat that darkness flickers around the edges of my sight. I black out for what feels like a few seconds, and when I awaken, I’m suspended from a hook in the ceiling in the bedroom. What the—? I glance up to find the ribbon with which my wrists have been restrained is threaded through the hook and looped around my wrists.
"You’re back," he murmurs, his gaze taking in my features, the way I’m displayed.
I cough, and he reaches over, grabs a glass of wine that he has placed on the side table nearby, and takes a sip. He places the glass down, then uses his mouth to dribble the liquid against my lips. I swallow down a few mouthfuls before I turn my head away.
"Aww, don’t be like that, Flower," he drawls. "I’m only trying to soothe your dry throat."
"Fuck that." I scowl. "Untie me, right now."
"But I’m just getting started." He reaches over to the side, grabs a ball of yarn, and begins to unravel it. My belly ties itself up in knots, and my thighs tremble. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m getting turned on by the thought of him tying me up again. I don’t want it. Don’t want it.
"Don’t do that again," I snap.
"What?" He doesn’t glance up from his task.
"Make me black out."
"It was only a bit of breath-play," he murmurs.
"It may be nothing to you, but it scared me, okay?"
"I won’t do it again"—he glances up at me—"unless it’s to increase the intensity of your orgasm."
"You really are messed up in the head; you know that?"
He pauses and seems to consider my statement carefully. "I am," he acknowledges, "but so are you. Admit that you are turned on by the prospect of what I’m going to do to you, that you find being at my mercy delicious, that you can’t wait to find out what surprises I have in store for you."
My belly flip-flops, and my pulse rate ratchets up. "No," I growl, "of course, I’m not."
"Liar." He tosses the ball of yarn over his shoulder, then walks around to stand behind me.
"What the hell are you—" I have an inkling of his next action a second before… W-h-a-c-k. His big palm connects with my butt.
"What the fuck?" I screech, "Don’t you dare—"
"You know better than to challenge me." W-h-a-c-k.
I yell as my entire body jolts forward. Pain screeches up my spine. I almost lose my footing, and he winds his arm around my waist. I sense the heat from his body slam into my back a second before—W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k. W-h-a-c-k—he slaps my alternating arsecheeks, each slap more intense than the last. Each one sends a spurt of sensations that spirals down to my belly. My pussy seems to throb and swell with each one. Jesus! Even as the pain ...the pain… "Ow," I howl. "Stop it, you monster."
He pauses a beat, another. "Then count down from ten, sweetheart," he growls.
"What? No, I won’t last if you—"
His palm connects with my butt, and I cry out, "Stop, stop, please…"
"You’re forgetting to count, baby."
"Don’t baby me you, you. wanker."