I smothered my own answering smile. “Sorry, Sir,” I said meekly.
“Mmm.” He made a noise of approval as he walked around me. I was kneeling on the floor, my breasts hanging out of my bra, my swollen * lips bisected by the crotch of the panties I was, against all odds, still wearing. “This is a very nice sight,” he mused.
My lips fell open as his cock nudged at my face. My tongue reached out to lap at his fat head and he shook his head. “No, no. Wait for permission.”
Then give me permission, damn it, I fought from crying out. My burning need was back, the relief from my orgasm only temporary. I wanted his cock in my throat again. I wanted to feel a certain helplessness when he held my hair in his hands and pummelled my mouth with his dick. A powerlessness that was only illusory, because as soon as I wanted him to stop, he would.
The words I was waiting for didn’t come. “Bend over the bed,” he said instead. “Hold your cheeks open for me, cherie.”
His order was symbolic - tied up as I was, I could hardly part my cheeks effectively. My face coloured as I did as he asked, my hands awkward in their bindings. I felt the cool trickle of lube between my cheeks, then his fingers followed. First just one finger, then another, finally a third. At each stage, I forced myself to ease my tensed muscles. If I reminded myself I had no reason to be afraid and if I allowed myself to simply relax, I had to admit that this felt amazing. Intimate and naughty, a delicious morsel of illicit pleasure between two lovers.
“Now, the plug,” he said. His voice was rough with pleasure. I felt his fingers hold my panties aside, then I felt the steady intrusion of the plug. My breath caught and his hand descended sharply on my ass. “Jenny.” The voice was a warning and a promise, all rolled in one. Trust him.
I bit the inside of my cheek and exhaled and the plug slid past the tight ring of my asshole and nestled in place. I could feel its weight and its size in my body. I felt filled, controlled, his.
The plug was preparing me for his cock. My entire body heated at that mental image. Alexander would hold down my hips as his shaft split me open. I would moan in mingled pleasure and pain and he would either spank me or kiss me as he desired. Yet whatever he did, it would be exactly what I needed in that moment.
His fingers tapped at the base of the plug, embedding it deeper in me. “How’s that?”
“Good, Sir,” I panted out.
“No, no,” he corrected. “Tell me. No one-word answers.”
His hand skated over my ass, setting each nerve ending tingling. My skin was already prepped for his touch by his spanking and I was intensely aware of the way his palm caressed me. “I feel full,” I started. “I feel owned by you.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “I like it.”
His large hand closed over the back of my neck, and he held me down on the bed. I could hear his approval at my words in his voice when he spoke next, though he didn’t directly answer me. “Flogger now. Ten strokes.”
“Yes, Sir.” I smiled slightly. His voice was raspy and hoarse. Alexander’s impeccable control was fraying, ever so slightly. I wondered how long it would take before it snapped entirely.
He ran the tails of the flogger over my already reddened ass before bringing it down in one hard swipe. I hissed as a thousand little fires erupted all over my skin, but on the heels of pain came pleasure, sure and swift.
“Give me a number for the pain,” he said. “One through ten. Ten’s high.”
“Four,” I responded. Madame Lorraine’s dominants had done the same test for pain. I supposed it made sense – every person’s pain tolerance was different and Alexander had never used the flogger on me. Some part of me was still expecting dominance and submission to be just another version of everything I’d endured at Dylan’s stronghold. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly clearer that this was a very different thing. This was about consent and mutual pleasure.
Speaking of pleasure, my panties had been reduced to a sodden lace scrap of fabric. Alexander’s fingers teased at my folds and he chuckled. “So tasty,” he muttered and my insides clenched in longing as I imagined him licking my juices from his fingers.
“Sir, please,” I begged. “Please fuck me. Please, I can’t hold on…”
“And yet,” his voice was firm, “hold on you will. Isn’t that right, Jenny? You are going to be good for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes Sir.”
Warmth pooled in my body as the flogger made stinging contact with my skin. Each stroke made me moan, gasp and whimper. Yet, my * was soaked. Little shockwaves of lust radiated through my entire body each time the tails of the flogger touched me.