Page 27

The cuffs he’d had me put on in the garage were some kind of rubber that didn’t irritate me, which means they’d stayed on throughout the entire ordeal, including the shower. I’d sniffed them before putting them on, to be certain they weren’t latex. They weren’t, but I’d pretty much expected they’d need to come off before too long.

However, it’d been hours and there wasn’t any irritation, which was surprising, but good.

Master used them now to connect my wrists to the leather swing, down near my hips, and my legs in the air, spread far apart. A wide, stretchy band came up under my arms and connected over the top of my chest, securing my torso to the sling. I was as secure as I’d ever been, with no way to move around, and absolutely no way to keep him away from my dick, balls, or asshole.

“I had a manicure today,” Master said, “to make sure my nails are all smooth with no rough spots. I want to hurt you, but I don’t want to injure you. I had a female slave once who enjoyed giving me manicures. It turned her on to prepare the hands that were going to hurt her later in the day. We’ll figure out what kinds of foreplay work for us as we go.”

He hadn’t told me what was about to happen, and I’d figured it was best not to ask — Master would tell me what I needed to know. There were no rules about not speaking unless asked a direct question, but I had a feeling Master was going easy on the rules at first, to see how I’d been trained.

Pretty much universally, a well-trained slave knows not to ask questions during a scene unless they aren’t sure how to obey an order.

But I had a feeling I knew what was coming, and it both scared me and excited me.

I yelped and then squeaked when Master put multiple fingers in my asshole to start — I wasn’t sure if it was two fingers or three, but it was certainly more than one.

“Look at me, slave. Direct eye contact. There’ll be times it won’t be respectful, but I want to see inside you tonight. No hiding from me. You’re mine.”

“Yes, Master.”

It’d been a long time since I’d been fisted, and Master didn’t take his time getting there. It hurt and burned at times, and my muscles spasmed when he tried to force his way past his knuckles, but he didn’t relent. It felt as if he would split me in two, and I wanted to squeeze my eyes closed, but he hurt me worse when I did, so I quickly learned to open myself to him, exposed and bare in every way so he could see every emotion I know had to pass over my face while he worked his hand farther and farther into me.

It felt as if he was prying my soul open, and not just my body. So many raw emotions I was overwhelmed in every way — physically and mentally.

Butthere was no escape from either his hands or his gaze, those oh-so-blue eyes that pierced my psyche and left me with no secrets.

A single tear escaped and ran down the side of my face despite the fact I wasn’t crying, and Master’s hand stilled in my ass a second before he pressed in a few more millimeters. My heart seemed to grow in my chest until it filled the universe, it was so full of love for Master.

Another couple of millimeters and I was pretty sure he was in past the knuckles, so all he had to do was slide his fist the rest of the way in, but he stopped and made an adjustment that spread me what felt like inches wider all at once, and I screamed loud and long while frantically trying to escape my bonds.

“Enough.” It came out harsh and made me stop fighting, and Master quickly ordered, “Squeeze, slave. As hard as you can.”

A scream escaped my chest when I squeezed because it truly felt as if I’d be ripped open. My asshole began to spasm around Master’s fist, and I was suddenly afraid I’d lose control and orgasm.

“That’s it. You have permission if it happens, but try to hold it in.” His voice went from soft to strict. “Squeeze harder, boy.”

His hand shifted inside me, my overextended muscles fruitlessly trying to tighten around Master’s fist holding me wide open, and tears flowed from my eyes now even though I still wasn’t crying. Or at least, I wasn’t sobbing.

And then, finally, he pressed his fist into my ass so it was only opened as wide as his wrist, and I breathed out in relief.

“Relax again, boy. Rotate your feet in circles, focus on something besides your ass.”

I did so a dozen times until he nodded, and then I stopped. It’d helped a little, and I fanned my toes out, which also seemed to help.

It was hard to keep my eyes open, but I managed it because I didn’t want to hideanythingfrom him, and then I choked on a sob when he opened his hand inside me. This wasn’t about pain, it was about being owned, and I said, “Yours, Master. All yours. Completely.”

“Not yet, but we’ll get there, slave.”

He closed his fist, pulled it nearly all the way to his knuckles, opening me impossibly wide again, and then pushed back in, pulled back to the widest part again.

Master did this over and over, a dozen times, with our gazes locked so I had no choice but to let him see into my soul.

He purposefully ran his strong fingers over my prostate, and I screamed, “Please allow your slave an orgasm, Master!”

Usually, I have to beg for a while, but he immediately said, “Permission granted,” and pulled his hand back enough it stretched me open while he did something with his fingers around my prostate, and it wasn’t a mere orgasm, but an explosion of pleasure with layers and layers of ecstasy, catapulting me through other worlds with foreign colors, and I was a prisoner to the frenzy, locked in place with no way to escape the throes of climax that went on and on until I finally collapsed, wrung out, and Master oh-so-gently removed his fist.

“Close your eyes, boy. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

I drifted in the swing while Master used baby wipes to clean me, and I’m pretty sure he cleaned his own hands and arm. It took him a few minutes to release all the points of bondage, and then he was lifting me from the swing, supporting most of my weight when I stood, and he walked me to the bed.