Page 31 of Cruel Master
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she talks, and Christ, I want to touch her. Soon. Soon.
“What did you do? Tell me. In detail.”
She licks her lips, her cheeks blaze, and she averts her gaze. I file her discomfort away for future reference. This side of Juliet is a puzzle, and I’m going to solve every single bit of it.
“I touched myself. Made myself come.”
I lean down closer to her. Freckles stand out on her skin. “Without permission.”
She meets my gaze. “Yes. Without permission. Sorry.”
Her pupils fill her eyes, pushing the green to a vivid ring. She never looked at me like this when we were together. I’ll see that fearful expression in my dreams. I loosen my grip on her hair and touch her cheek as she sighs in relief. “Well done for admitting it. But slaves don’t own their pleasure, do they?”
She shivers and shakes her head. “No, Master.”
“What happens to slaves who break the rules?”
That shiver again. I drink it in. Every movement she makes is locked into my memory forever, and it’s building a beautiful tapestry. She bites her lip, and her voice drops to a whisper. “We get punished.”
“Correct.”
She tenses, clearly expecting me to grab her, but there’s no rush. She’s under my spell, and unless I’m very much mistaken, she’ll do whatever I say. I want to make her a participant in her own debasement this time.
I straighten. “On your feet.”
She blinks up at me, then slowly complies. It’s electric, her obeying my commands. Her lips part, and the image of them wrapped around my cock hits me all at once. Perhaps I should have started with that. But no. She can make amends to me later, once she’s been punished.
“Stand in the corner, facing the wall.”
She’ll really, really hate that. Juliet likes to see what is going on. Her momentary hesitation shows me just how much. Onceshe’s in position, I take my time getting everything ready, checking regularly that she isn’t peeking. If she is, I don’t catch her in the act.
Once everything is prepared, I snap, “Turn around.”
Her confused expression brings a smile to my face underneath the mask. Despite her obsession with all things kinky, I’ve managed to surprise her. Good.
An adjustable pole is attached to an anchor point on the floor, and the thick dildo on the end of it sits just below where her pussy will be. She’ll straddle it, and once I raise it up, she’ll be trapped, impaled by the dildo in her pussy. A one-bar prison, just for her.
Juliet frowns, glancing between me and the device. I beckon her over, and she comes, looking more curious than scared. A pair of painfully high stiletto heels sit next to the pole.
“Put the shoes on.”
She sits on the altar and does, wincing when she stands up in them. Never one for high heels, my Juliet. Her feet will be sore in five minutes. Too bad for her.
I point at the dildo. “Lower yourself onto that.”
I see the moment comprehension dawns. Her brows knit, but she moves over to the bar and positions herself over it. I don’t offer any help, just watch as she frowns down at it, then awkwardly lowers herself. Her deep red blush hasn’t abated, and she can’t meet my eye. She’s happier getting thrown around than she is following orders while I watch.
She struggles, shifting herself around on the large dildo, before she manages to get it inside her. There’s something fascinating about making her perform for me, and my heart rate picks up. She’s a living doll, pulled by my strings. It’s such a perfect image. My hands shake a little as I pick up the remote control.
Once she’s got herself seated, I press the button and extend the pole.
She yelps as her legs straighten, though I stop it just before her feet would have left the ground. I want her balanced on the shoes. She stares down at herself, then back at me, eyes wide. Before she has a chance to say anything, I collect a pair of handcuffs and make quick work fastening her hands behind her back, then stand to admire her.
She’s completely trapped in the most humiliating way possible, and it’s fucking beautiful.
The position pushes her breasts toward me, and her chest moves with rapid, panicked breaths. The shoes add length to her long, toned legs. I trace the length of her body. She’s an offering presented as a sacrifice, and now, she’s really afraid.
The shift in her demeanor pulls me forward, and she twitches like a butterfly pinned to a board. But she can’t escape.
