Page 5 of Ascension

I gripped the flogger, thick leather tongues kissed with weight and sting, and let it rain across his back, rhythmic, hypnotic. The kind of strike that makes a man feel the curve of his spine.

He moaned deep and loud.

“Tell me who you are.”

“Yours, Mistress!”

I dropped the flogger, undid the front of my leatherharness, and pulled his head back by his waves.

“Then earn this fucking pussy,” I growled, pushing his face in my pussy and grinding on it.

He didn’t hesitate. His tongue slid between my folds with worshipful desperation, and I ground against him, hips rocking, face unflinching. I slapped his cheek hard, once, twice, making him moan against my clit, hungry for the sting.

“You like that, don’t you?”

He groaned into me.

“You like pain. Like the ache. Like when I bruise your skin and ride your mouth like a good little toy.”

He nodded, drowning in me.

When I finally came, it was violent, a sharp cry ripped from my chest as I clenched around his face, shaking from the release. I didn’t stop, not yet.

I climbed off him, dripping down his chin, and snapped on a condom, strapping on a semi-thick vibrating dildo, one of my personal favorites in my arsenal. He looked up, lips glossy, eyes pleading.

“Please,” he begged.

“You’re going to take it,” I said, voice low. “Every inch. No safe word, no mercy, unless you beg the right way.”

He shivered, crawling onto the bench like a sacrificial lamb.

I poured my favorite lube all over the dildo before spreading his ass apart and pouring it all over his wanton hole. I entered him slowly at first, going deep; his groan echoed like praise in a cathedral.

This was mine.

This power. This ache. This man.

I pounded into him, hand tangled in his hair, the otherslapping his ass hard enough to leave prints. His moans turned feral, his dick trapped between his belly and the bench, dripping, untouched.

“You don’t cum unless I say so,” I hissed. “You cum when I break you.”

And that night? I did.

Over and over again.

Until all that remained of James Carter Jr. was a trembling, satisfied heap at my feet, marked, used, owned.

And I was no longer afraid of my softness.

Because in destroying his control, I had finally reclaimed mine.

His body was wrecked, gorgeously so, ruined to absolute perfection.

Face down on the bench, back striped in crimson blooms, thighs trembling from the deep stretch of what I gave him, lips swollen from worship. He was barely breathing, not in distress, but in that sweet, syrupy haze submissives drift into when their bodies are flooded with endorphins and surrender.

I stood over him, the straps of my harness sticking to my sweat-slicked skin, my pulse still pounding behind my ribs. I hadn’t come down yet, but I had to, I needed to.

Because what I was about to do next could change everything.