Page 21 of Hard Discipline

He tugs at the chains again, sending lightning strikes of pleasure/pain radiating out from my nipples and my clit, and I cry out again against his lips. Abruptly, he pulls away, one hand still buried in my hair, and in a series of deft, practiced movements, he takes the clamps off my distended nipples and clit. As soon as the pressure disappears, the blood rushes back in and it hurts like a bastard. Tears roll down my cheeks and I whimper like a wounded animal, but his mouth is back and he’s kissing me again, slower this time, deeper, as if he’s tasting me, relishing me.

Then I feel his hand reach down between my thighs, to where I’m so sensitive, and he’s sliding one finger into me.The sensation is so intense I give a muffled scream against his lips, but he doesn’t stop, sliding another finger in and then a third. I’m so wet there’s no resistance, and when he starts to work them in and out of me, the pleasure is like a blade slicing through me. He doesn’t touch my swollen clit, but he doesn’t need to, the friction and the feeling of being stretched by his fingers is everything. I can feel an orgasm barreling down on me like a freight train and I don’t think I can stop it.

“No,” he warns against my lips. “Don’t you fucking come.

Automatically I fight the urge, panting and sobbing, but he doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers and it’s relentless, and no matter how hard I struggle against it there’s no stopping the climax.

It’s like a tsunami, gathering strength and power as it builds, and then it’s rolling over me, the force of the pleasure shattering me as if I’m made of crystal.

I scream and scream against his mouth, shaking and shaking, the broken pieces of me rubbing against one another and magnifying the intensity. I lose track of where I am, of who I am, completely at the mercy of the ecstasy shaking me apart.

His hands withdraw, but his arms are closing around me and lifting me, and I’m only half-aware of being carried over to the couch. I expect him to set me down on it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits with me in his lap and wraps a blanket around me, then he holds me as I shake and tremble with the aftershocks, tears still rolling down my face for no reason that I can see. He’s so hot, his chest hard, his arms strong, and I’m enclosed in them like a secret he wants to keep.

My head rests against the warm stone of his chest, and I can hear his heart beating, slow and steady. I let the sound of it fill my head, and soon my sobs fade and my breathing becomes more even, matching the beat of his heart.

For a few blissful moments, I think of nothing at all, floating in a wonderful post-orgasmic haze that I never want to end.

Then he says, “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

He eases me onto the sofa cushions and vanishes through the doorway again, but he doesn’t leave me for long this time. I’ve barely registered he left before he’s back, and once again I’m in his lap, held in his arms.

“Drink this,” he instructs and holds a glass of water to my lips.

I don’t even think about disobeying, sipping at it, letting the cool water ease my throat, a little painful after all that screaming. This must be the aftercare I’ve read about, when a Dom provides physical comfort and reassurance after a scene. Well, if so, I like it very much.

He makes me drink the whole glass and while I’m sipping, I become conscious of something very hard beneath my butt. My God, if that’s his cock — and really, what else could it be? — then he’s huge. Also, he must be desperate for release, and yet he’s making no move on me. It’s as if it doesn’t matter to him and part of me is turned on by his control, while another part is exceptionally pleased with myself that I’ve got him in this state at all.

After I’ve drained the glass, I rest my head against his shoulder and look up at him. For once he’s not looking at me, staring off into the distance instead, and slowly I become aware of how tense he is. His expression is about as readable as a lump of granite, and I’m suddenly desperate to know what he’s thinking. Does he not like this part? This aftercare thing? He doesn’t give the impression of a man who is used to giving comfort, I guess, considering how hard he is, yet he’s doing it for me anyway. Perhaps he feels he has to?

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice husky in the silence. “I’ll be okay in a moment.”

Instantly, he glances down at me. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I came when you told me not to. And also…you don’t have to hold me like this if you don’t want to.”

He’s staring at me, not in the way he stares when he’s giving instructions, but as if what I just said has surprised him. “Why do you think I don’t like holding you?”

“You’re tense. In fact your whole body is tight.” I shift, ready to move away, but his arms tighten around me, and this time it’s my turn to be surprised. “What?”

“Did I tell you to move, sub?” he says roughly.

“But you don’t like?—”

“Whose will is important here?”

I take a little breath. “Yours.”

“That’s right. And if I want to hold you, I fucking will, understand?”

I stare up at his hard features, the force of his command beating me down, making me want to curl up against him and not push. But I can’t stop myself. “Then why are you so tense?”

A muscle flicks in his hard jaw. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

He’s so intimidating and I don’t know why I’m pushing him or what I answer I want him to give. All I know is that he’s tense and I want to help. “If you need something from this sub, Master, you can have it,” I say hesitantly. “You can have anything.”

That muscle flicks again and I can see something glitter in his blue stare. Something hot and bright and sharp. It gives me a whole body shiver, and I’m abruptly aware once again of my nakedness, and how the blanket feels against my skin. How the tips of my breasts and my clit are aching and tender, and yet the anticipation and delicious fear is building once again—my body desperate for more.

He wants you.

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