His by Carolyn Faulkner (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

took her, her voice breaking as he settled completely into her, up to the hilt, leaning over her as she began to sob at the ache he was creating, and the uncomfortable feeling of fullness she couldn't eliminate. He fucked her slowly at first, in and out, and she knew that he had put some sort of slickness on himself at some point which eased his way, and the easier it got, the harder he slammed into her as she chanted that phrase over and over, hating the fact that being treated this way was only making her that much slicker.

Sometimes, her Master had brought her to pleasure doing just this, and it was the memories of just that situation that flooded her genitals, pooling the ecstasy in a place that she knew wasn't going to get any attention from him for quite some time, if then.

For now, she had to concentrate on repeating who she belonged to over and over as he claimed the very insides of her for himself, reinforcing what she was saying in the most basic, physical manner a man could.

He reached out and was able to grab her ponytail, to pull her head back with a calculated gentleness that belied what he was doing to the rest of her body and use it as a rein, keeping her head up carefully, not wanting to jerk or hurt her neck, but rather just to provide yet another reminder of his power over her.

He took her then, indulging himself completely with and within her, running his hand over her back and bottom, knowing she'd become accustomed enough that he didn't have to be quite as careful as he had been, letting himself go to a certain extent, always watchful of her condition, however.

The end, though, the uncontrollable ecstasy was already tingling in his loins, and he knew that he simply wasn't going to be able to hold off as long as he would like to. It just wasn't going to happen. And he knew that that was for the best, actually, because if he'd continued pumping in and out of her, she might extract a level of pleasure he wasn't yet willing to impart to her. So it was for the best when he threw back his head and roared his bliss to the exposed beam ceiling.

Raina sobbed as he emptied himself into her, each short sharp ending thrust rocking her poor breasts, and coldly pressing the material and zipper of his dress pants against her blazing buttocks.

But it was not over.

Only when he was through, when he'd eked the last of himself out into her bottom, did he disengage from her, clean himself up, and come back around to unhook her from the chains that hung from the ceiling, then her feet from the eye hooks in the floor. He carried her to her trusty table, then reattached her there so that she was immobile again, her bottom at the very end - almost hanging off - the end of the table, her legs held via the bar between them, well back and spread, her privates laid out before him like a buffet.

He rolled his big comfy office chair out from behind his desk, and planted himself in it, where he would have the easiest time of molesting her. Slowly. Calculatedly.

It was a long evening for Raina.

Her Master took complete and total enjoyment from torturing her in the usual manner - spanking, paddling, belting her, using the cat, binding her breasts. But sometimes he tortured her in a completely different manner - he forced her to spend hours on the edge of an incredibly explosive culmination - but wouldn't allow her to actually realize it.

He'd done this several times before, and Raina knew, even though she couldn't see what he was doing, exactly what she was in for. She'd almost rather have been caned for the next three hours rather than having to go through what she knew she was in for.

He knew her all too well. Once he'd sat down, he popped back up, only to remove her blindfold, so that she could see herself and him in the mirror that he'd had hung directly above several days after that awful Santa Claus examination. And, even worse than seeing herself lying there, he began to talk to her, describing just what he was seeing. It added insult to injury that everything he did, everything he said, everything she saw being done to herself, no matter how degrading or humiliating, made her body weep and ache and throb.

At first, he didn't touch her. He merely leaned over, placing his face mere inches from exactly where she wanted him to bury it, speaking to her in that low, almost hypnotic tone he sometimes used if he needed to calm her. "I think I say it every time I get you trussed up in any way at all, but I love seeing you like this. I love it when you're completely helpless. You're such a good sub - you never seem to really rebel, but I like making sure you couldn't even if you were of a mind to. I like having you spread before me - so that I can see every inch, every spec of what your body usually tries to hide from my eyes by its mere design."

Raina could feel his hot breath wafting over her privates, and even just that slightest touch was enough to make her want to arch up against it, which, of course, she couldn't. Raina thought that if he just touched her once, if she felt anything against that part of her body, she would come apart, despite all of the rules he had in place for her about denying her own release until she had permission from him to do so.

And she knew that that was a long time away, and she was right.

As he spoke, he reminded her that if she gave in, if she let herself go