I moan, “Please, Sir. Please may I come?”
“No, sweetheart. Only I get to make you come, and it won’t be like this. It’ll be a lot more painful.”
I mewl like a kitten crying for milk. His milk. I want him to grip my hair until I yelp, to pull me closer and kiss me breathless. To slap, pinch, tease, and sink inside, fucking me with ruthless abandon until I’m begging him for more, but he doesn’t. He just watches with that usual cool detachment.
Why can’t I affect him like he affects me? Why can’t he show me even the smallest bit of mercy and let me see that he needs me just as much as I need him? The physiological evidence is there in the bulge in his pants, but he is more monster than man, and monsters don’t need anything but the souls of innocents.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll be good.” My breathing is ragged, my skin hot and itchy, my pussy aching with need.
He chuckles again, as if my begging amuses him. “You say that so often, Pet. I’m afraid it no longer holds any meaning.” His boot nudges my knees. I hadn’t realized I was closing them. “Keep those fucking legs opened for me.”
“Yes, Sir.” I don’t recognize my voice. I don’t recognize myself, but then I suppose that’s the beauty of amnesia. You can reinvent, rebirth, and remake yourself over and over.
This lifestyle may not have been my choice. I may have been coerced by a Master so depraved he makes my skin crawl as much as he makes me hot and needy. I may be held here against my will, but I’ve grown to love the way he touches me, the way he ruins me, and tears me apart before lovingly, and so carefully, stitching me back together. He’s my maker as surely as he is my Master, and I live to submit to him. I also live for the punishment, and the pleasure that comes so freely with that.
His flogger strikes my breast, hard. I inhale sharply. My skin sings with the cruelty of pain as a red weal blossoms on my flesh. I continue to fuck my fingers, harder, faster, and my Master gives me another quick reprimand by lashing my hand. It stings like a bitch, and I cry out in protest. “I told you not to come, Pet, and I can see you’re just seconds away.”
“No, Sir.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.” He shakes his head and paces. “Stop touching yourself.”
Another protest, another lash, but I do as he orders and slide my hands free of my body. “Lick your fingers clean.”
I take them into my mouth, tasting myself, my eyes closing with the sheer eroticism of it.
“Look at me when you lick them clean,” he growls, all anger and frustration now.Why won’t he fuck me? Right here on the hardwoods of my gilded cage? Why does he insist on depriving us both? “My dirty little whore, you want me to fuck you right now, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I pant. In my mind’s eye Ares loses control, shoves me back on the floor and takes me hard and viciously where I lay, breaking all of his rules. “Please, Sir.”
“No.” My daydreams up and vanish. “Only good girls get fucked, and you are not a good girl.”
“I am, Sir, I swear.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I pant, undulating my hips so he might strike me again.
“Get on your knees.”
I scramble across the floorboards, eager to do whatever he says. He unfastens his fly and pulls his long cock free of his pants. It bobs in the space between us, an inviting dusky pink.
I crawl forward. He fists my hair and nudges his wide head against my lips. I open, like a good girl, but even I’m not prepared for the force with which he drives into my mouth, pushing right to the back of my throat. I gag. My eyes water, and he tightens his fist in my hair. “Breathe, Pet. This is not new.”
I gasp, I choke, but he doesn’t remove his cock, and eventually I settle my mind and breathe in through my nose the way he showed me last time.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
My skin breaks out with goose bumps. I like being his good girl, but I like being his bad girl too. “Relax your throat, baby doll. I’m going to fuck it, hard, and you’re gonna swallow my cum down like a good little slut.”
My throat constricts as I nod. True to his word, Ares pumps his hips back and forth, making me take all of him until my nose is buried in his pubic hair and it tickles my upper lip. My mouth is sealed tight around his cock. I let him use me, and then I grip his balls, squeezing firmly, the way he likes it, as his seed spills down my throat.
His chest heaves. He’s panting, and sweat beads over his shoulders and across his brow. He pulls out and as those dark eyes meet mine, for the first time I think I see the man inside. A man who wants me, who maybe even loves me, who at least loves having me torment him. But too soon his eyes lose their warmth, that hint of a smile vanishes, his face becomes impassive, and the monster creeps back in.
Ares takes my chin in his hands. “Who owns you?”
“You, Sir.”
“Who owns your pussy?”