Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Even now her chest is flushed and heaving. The jeweled clamps twinkle with every rising and falling breath.
I hold up the third clamp and wait for her to realize my plan. Her eyes grow huge.
“Oh yes,” I let a wicked grin claim my lips. I can’t help it. A Master can stay in control and enjoy himself too, right? “As promised.”
She trembles slightly as I approach with the clit clamp in hand. The one I’ve chosen is the most benign, a beginner’s clamp. A bit of lube and the teardrop head will easily fit over her clitoris, with the long wire legs clamping her labia. Several jewels hang from either end.
“You’ll look so pretty for me. Maybe I’ll clamp you and make you serve me dinner.” A meal with her naked and panting. Whenever she bent to place food in front of me, I’d tweak the clamps tighter…
As I fit the clamp into place, Daphne cranes her head to watch. She doesn’t seem too horrified. No, she looks fascinated.
“My curious little deviant.”
This is her power, isn’t it? Everywhere I lead her, she so enthusiastically follows. No hesitation. Her hips roll and the muscles of her stomach ripple. Her eyes grow hooded, her lashes fanning over her flushing cheeks.
I’m attuned to every twitch, every hitched breath, every eyelid flutter. I am her Master, her maker.
Her god.
The clamp fits perfectly, squeezing her delicate flesh. The jewels hang down, tickling her perineum. The emeralds glisten with her juices.
I bend down, intent as a scientist looking through a microscope. Watching miracles unfold. I toy with the jewels and she clenches her bottom. I blow on her clit and she rocks her hips. All the while, desperate little gasps escape her lips.
“Poor Daphne.” I rise a moment, adjusting myself. My cock is stiff and throbbing in my pants. I’m torturing myself as much as torturing her.
I roll up my shirt sleeves and settle in for my feast.
At the first touch of my tongue, her back arches, her body bowing as far as she can go in the restraints. “Master,” she screams.
My cock almost splits my pant’s seam. I nuzzle the clamp with my nose and glide my tongue over her quivering flesh.
We groan in unison. Her sweet taste— “Heaven.”
Daphne
I knew Logan would torture me when I returned, but I might not survive a day. Logan’s face is pressed between my legs, freaking eating me like he’s starving.
My wrists are red from tugging at my bounds. I’m desperate to grab his face and grind down. I’m so close—
Logan pulls away, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve. Leaving me on the edge. Fuck!
“You can’t always get what you want,” Logan intones. Fucker.
My arousal teeters on a knife edge. One side pleasure, the other side pain. Or maybe the two are one.
But I feel a rush of gratitude. If this is all my Master will dish out, then I can take it.
“You took your clamping well.”
I relax at the praise. The jeweled clamp didn’t look too scary. Just a wire prong designed to squeeze my flesh a little bit. Maybe I’ll survive tonight after all.
He adds a touch of lube and slides the prong off. The way he’s watching my face, I know something’s about to happen. And then, it does. Holy shit!
The blood rushes back to those places.
Oh fuck, oh fuck!
My clit is engorged a thousand-fold. I stare down between my legs but can barely concentrate because I’m about to explode, right on the edge. It’s so close, so insane, I’ve never felt such a buildup of pleasured intensity—
I writhe my hips this way and that, trying to get stimulation. Maybe I can catch my clit on the side of my leg—
“Ah ah,” Logan steadies me, adding restraints that pull my legs further apart. He leaves for a moment, exiting into the shadows.
I lay on the table, half-floating, my throbbing clit my only tether to the earthly plane, a red beacon in the blissful haze. What is it about this man that makes me just...surrender?
The Beast returns. He is the Beast now, fully. A mask affixed to his features. A hulk of a man, my body recognizes as Master. My toes curl at the sight of him—shirt off, muscles on display. In his hand: a black crop.
Maybe the pain’s just begun. My heart trips over itself as he runs the black leather flap along my face and neck, tracing my collarbone, circling my breasts.
Whap! The crop strikes the underside of my right breast. A cruel sting on my soft flesh. Why is my pussy flooding?
Whap! Another on the inside of my thigh. A bright patch on the smooth pale skin. Why does my back arch, offering my body up?
More soft strikes and sudden strikes. The crop rubs my pussy folds and comes away coated in moisture. Master holds it to my lips to taste. Tart and salty. Why does it taste so good?