Chapter 9

Richard leads me to stand by the window, then sits in an armchair, looking at me. “Turn around. Let me look at you.”

A little self-consciously, I turn around under his fixed gaze. I am wearing a simple blouse, very low-cut that shows off my cleavage. The teardrop pendant dangles between my breasts. The wraparound skirt, tight on my tiny waist, flares out, silky and sensuous over my long legs. I pull the skirt slightly to one side, showing my Master one stocking covered thigh.

He sits, head on one hand, propped on the chair arm, just watching, drinking me in. He looks simply astonishing, dark-haired and dark-eyed as he gazes on, his beautifully chiselled features fixed on me. He is my Master now, but I have never felt so powerful, so alive.

“You look beautiful, Elizabeth.”

I flush again, unsure now of his wishes.

“Unbutton your blouse,” he says, “slowly.” Then seeing my eyes glance at the window, he adds, “It’s mirrored glass. No one can see in. Now, unbutton your blouse.”

My Master expects to be obeyed, and so, one by one, I slip the buttons free, until the silken garment hangs loosely from my shoulders, my full breasts protruding beyond the folds.

“Take it off.” Obediently, I let the blouse slide to the ground where it ripples onto the thick soft carpet. My bra, chosen to enhance my cleavage, is black satin, matching the thong I am wearing. I start to take off the bra, but he says, “No. Come here.” And compliantly, I approach.

I feel incredibly erotic. My total surrender of will to this man’s wishes is arousing something in me, which, until only the previous day, I had not suspected in myself. I warm from within, embers of arousal beginning to fan into flame.

“Closer. I want to be able to touch you, to smell you.”

As I stand over him, he reaches into the folds of the skirt, pulling the fabric back in a train behind me, exposing the thong panties along with my stockings. His hands continue their journey behind me to the tops of my thighs, gathering me in and pulling me close, his face against my stomach as he kisses and nibbles my skin. Then, one hand still clasping me from behind, with a single finger he slides inside the front of my panties, pulling them slightly to one side, and lowering his head, nuzzling his face against me.

I can feel his hot breath against me as he softly bites at my skin. My breathing quickens, and he smiles as he hears it. “Good girl, Elizabeth. That’s right. I’ll have you screaming soon enough, but you have to earn it.”

He laps slowly at my sex, tongue exploring, then says, “Part your legs. Spread your thighs for me.”

He slides two fingers between my legs, over my bud, and towards my pussy, stroking gently, fondling my clit, massaging my pussy lips. I begin to gasp, and I stagger slightly as my body reacts to the oh-so-gentle stimulation he is giving me, waves of arousal fanning over me.

“Did I say you could move?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not easy to stand still when you’re doing that.”

He glances up into my eyes. “Is that so? We’d better do something about it then.”

In a swift change of mood, grabbing my wrists, he pulls me into the bedroom and pushes me roughly back against a wall. Hand hard on me, flat between my breasts, he simply says, “Stay.”

On a side table, there are several items laid out: vibes, ropes, dildos, handcuffs …

He selects the cuffs. Snapping them onto my wrists, he says, “What’s it to be? Stretched up or bending over?”

I don’t know what to say, so with my heart beginning to race, I say nothing.

“Silent again, Elizabeth? Let’s see what we can do to change that.”

Grabbing my arms roughly, he raises my arms above my head, to where I notice for the first time, a hook in the wall. Attaching the cuffs to the hook, he produces the spreader bar I saw the night before, cuffing in first one ankle, and then the other. He pulls the pins from my hair, and it cascades down over my breasts to my waist, a tumble of auburn waves.

He stands back to admire his handiwork and then shakes his head. Kneeling, he adjusts the bar, pushing it and my ankles wider. “Spread your legs. I want you open.” His voice is harsh, intense.

It is difficult to move at all, and as I try to obey, I totter, all my weight on my wrists for a moment. From his kneeling position, my Master forces my ankles farther apart, and farther, until I can barely stand at all, my wrists taking the strain. He unwraps my legs from the folds of the skirt, tucking the fabric behind me.

“That’s better,” he says. “Now we have you properly presented.”

Standing back, he starts to strip, his eyes never leaving mine as he removes his shirt. I am entranced by his tight, lean muscled body, by the dark line of hair leading from his navel to his belt and below. Broad-shouldered and tight waisted, I want nothing more than for him to fuck me stupid. His black jeans, previously a perfect fit, are straining at the front, and as he unbelts and unzips, his manhood stands upright against him, firm against his flat stomach. I watch, hypnotised by his beautiful physique, staring at his erection.

He follows my stare and grins. “Like what you see, Elizabeth? Don’t worry, it’s all going to be inside you. I’m just deciding where.”

Coming close, he lifts my breasts from the confines of the lacy bra, cupping and kneading each in turn. He tweaks at the nipples, raising them to hard brown buds, then bends to suckle one, whilst pinching and squeezing the other, sending electric waves of arousal through my core to my pussy.

My breathing is so heavy now, so fast, and moisture is running down my skin, from the sweat of my rising heat, and from my pussy, now flowing freely down my legs. He looks at me, eyes lingering on my breasts, my flat belly, the parting of my legs.

“Too many clothes,” he says, grasping the skirt at the waist and tugging. With a pop of buttons and a rip of fabric, it tears free. I start to protest, but roughly he grabs my chin, turning my face to his. “No!” he says, then, more gently, “I’ll buy you another one.”

The ragged cloth of the beautiful skirt is cast to one side. And next, he reaches for my panties, pulling and tearing, ripping them off me.

I am still wearing the bra and stockings. “You can keep those on,” he says, then kisses me fiercely. There is nothing tender or gentle here. His mouth is hard on my lips, forcing my mouth open.

He drops to his knees, face up close, pulling my pussy lips apart and wrapping his tongue around my clit, working it mercilessly.

I moan, trying to struggle, but I have nowhere to go. Cuffed hand and foot, legs spread, and with my all my weight resting on my wrists, I cannot move. I can only writhe helplessly against the cascade of sensation. With his tongue working my clit, he slips fingers into my pussy and rubs hard against my inner walls. I can hear nothing, feel nothing, except the pain of my wrists and the inescapable pleasure, pain, delight, and torment of my Master’s tongue and fingers. My moaning increases, turning to squeals, fighting against the breathlessness of my rapid breathing.

My heart pounding, a climax wells up inside, and my squeals turn into a triumphant scream as my orgasm pulses through me, pounding through my pussy, belly, and thighs. My legs give out from under me and I hang by my wrists, writhing and shaking, helpless in the grip of my crashing climax.

I do not hang for long. Before the spasm passes, my Master rises, unhooks the handcuffs from the wall and propels me to the bed. Hobbled by the bar, legs asplay, I can barely move, and he picks me up, depositing me roughly kneeling facedown over the bed.

My legs spread-eagled by the bar, my pink and swollen sex is open and displayed to him as he kneels behind me, and with one hand on my back pinning me down, he thrusts his shaft hard into me.