Page 46 of Cruel Master
“Do you feel that, doll? You were made to be owned. Made to be fucked whenever I like.”
The gravelly voice so close to my ear makes me jump. Reality swoops and dives again, because the voice belongs to Saldar. The real one I imagined in my mind and tried my hardest to commit to the screen. It’s as though this man stole him from the deepest part of my soul and gave him back to me with interest.
I never imagined Saldar as this cruel, but I can’t deny how right it feels.
Your captor is about to fuck you, by the way. In case you’d forgotten.
Oh God. He’s not Saldar. He’s a man, and he’s about to—
He presses his cock into me in one relentless thrust. I’m as ready as I’ve ever been in my life, but I still cry out at the sudden stretch. He groans as he settles inside me, and even through thedistortion, the satisfaction rings out clear. “There. Doesn’t that feel right, doll?”
The worst thing is, it does.
I’m still so primed and ready that my body welcomes him in, grateful for a shot at round two. I spent half the night desperately imagining this and the other half cursing myself out for thinking like that. A slap to my cheek snaps me out of my daze.
“Doll. Answer me.”
Another slap, this time hard enough to sting. My pussy clenches at the pain, and I stammer out, “Y-Yes, Master.”
He starts to thrust, and I shift my legs to let him in. The sting from his slap radiates across my nerves, heightening everything. The pain sharpens the pleasure, and as if he’s reading my goddamn mind he grabs my poor, sensitive nipple and twists as he picks up speed.
It’s lightning, bringing every sensation into brilliant focus. My pussy is still sore from the dildo stick, but even that deep, bruised pain feels good, and I moan even as my eyes water. I rarely orgasm from penetration alone, but this? This is different. I’ve never been so needy.
Hours of torture make me easy to please.
Saldar lets my nipple go and shifts his hand to my face, cupping it. He presses his thumb to my lips, and I open them to let him in. I taste salt on his skin, and it’s another reminder of his humanity. It’s a man fucking me, not some construct of my deepest fantasies. A man holding me against my will.
Right now, though? I don’t care. I want more. Need it. I grip his thumb in my teeth—not quite a bite, though it’s close—and he hisses. He shifts his hand to my hair and yanks. “Behave, doll.”
He slaps me hard across the tit, and I yell as it ricochets through me, spiking straight into my pussy. We’re in a race,Saldar and I. Can I come before he does? He’s made it clear I’ve had my reward already. If he finishes and I don’t, he won’t give a single shit about it.
His breathing picks up to match mine. I grind out, “Again,” and he doesn’t disappoint. He lashes out, slapping my nipple repeatedly in counterpoint to his own frantic thrusts.
It’s enough. The pain, whatever remains of the drug, and the hours of deprivation combine to fling me over the edge into a second orgasm. It’s as aggressive as the first, and if my legs weren’t tied, I’d be clamping them around his back.
My pussy clenches as rough pleasure drenches me. Saldar’s distorted moan echoes around the dungeon as he pistons into me one last time, shooting inside me. We stay locked together for a long time. Long enough for the high to fade and reason to reassert itself.
What the hell am I doing? I’m not meant to be encouraging the man. If he wants to believe he can turn me into a happy, willing slave, I’m not doing a single fucking thing to show him otherwise. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Fuck.
I need to stop letting my pussy drive.
Easier said than done, though, when Saldar seems to be reading my mind.
He pulls out and, after a couple of minutes, unlocks my restraints and takes off the blindfold. He’s fully dressed again, costume as impenetrable as ever. Will I ever see his face? Or am I destined to spend the rest of my life as a plaything for a guy in a mask?
I push myself up to sit and watch him. He’s all business, collecting the empty ice cream bowl and spoon, until he looks over at me and pauses. I can’t follow the direction of his glowinggaze, but he stretches out his hand and traces the scars on my inner thigh. I flinch, old shame creeping in.
It’s my fault I ended up with these. I was stupid and reckless, and I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.
Logically, I know I was the victim, but it doesn’t stop me flinching away and covering the scars with my palm. He doesn’t stop me, but the silence grows heavy until he asks, “What happened here? Who did this?”
I never told anyone what happened, and I sure as shit don’t want to start with him. “Just an accident.”
“Don’t lie to me, doll.” He grips my chin with his fingers and turns my face up to his demonic one. “The truth, or there will be trouble.”
Trouble. I can’t handle trouble. Trouble means punishment, and my body shrinks from the very thought. I need to curl up in my blanket and sleep for a week. And what the fuck does it matter anyway? He already seems to know everything about me.
