Page 46 of Irish Vice

Her legs are shaking so hard, the bed is rocking. Tears stream from her eyes. Her mouth is stretched in a perfect O, and she’s holding her breath, ready to break. Ready for me to say: “Yours.”

I walk away from the bed.

She screams in frustration.

“Wrong answer,” I say from across the room. “Your job is to thank me. To accept whatever I do to you. Whatever I decide not to do.”

I pick up one of the pool cues and balance it in my hands.

“By the way,” I say, as if we’re talking about the weather. “The mistake you made in my office was not coming into the room. Not showing off your body to Madden and Fiona. Not even riding my cock. You could have done all that…if you left your collar in its case.”

“I wanted—” she starts, and thinks better of it.

“I thought—” she tries again, but recognizes her mistake.

“Yes, Master.”

I look up sharply, to see if she’s mocking me. But her face is clear. Her eyes are wide. She’s honestly, finally, conceding.

I raise my knee and shatter the pool cue. Tossing the tapered tip to the floor, I’m left with the butt end. It’s as long as my forearm, the maple shaft polished to a mirror-like gleam.

She eyes it like it’s a live cobra. Her fingers curl around the torn sheet, as if she can shatter the headboard. As if she can escape.

I run my thumb along the inside of her thigh. She rises by reflex, hips leaving the bed in a silent plea. I sink three fingers into her cunt.

She’s soaked, from melted ice and her own sweet juices. She can take this. She can do everything I require her to do.

“Please don’t…“ she whispers. “I can’t… I’ll tear… I won’t…”

But she doesn’t sayred.

As I slip the rounded end of the cue past her folds, she starts to sob. It’s hard for her to give up absolute control. I know that. That’s why I love her.

Once she’s holding the cue, I find the necktie I set aside. I slip it over her head so it dangles between her tits. The silk brands her as mine.

“Who are you?” I ask as I slowly pump the wood between her thighs.

She closes her eyes. “Samantha Kelly.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she whispers. And then, as the friction builds, she says it faster. “You. Always you. Only you. Oh God, please, God, you.”

I stop one stroke shy of setting her free. This time, when she’s stranded, she’s silent except for her heavy breathing. Tears leak from beneath her closed eyes.

But she doesn’t beg.

Doesn’t issue orders.

Doesn’t even offer up a suggestion.

I pull the cue out of her snatch and roll it over her lips. She doesn’t understand for a moment. Then she shapes those lips into a perfect O. She arches her throat. She sucks her juices from the wood as I fuck her mouth.

The sound of her sucking is a battle hymn to my cock. My balls are as hard as granite. One good pull, and I could spill all over her pretty face.

I make myself slip the knots on her arms. I free her legs. I take the cue from her lips and force her over to the pool table, half-dragging, half-carrying her.

Her forearms settle on the green felt, my tie splayed in front of her. I kick her legs wide, just as a breeze blows through the shattered door. Her spine goes stiff, and she moans, “They’ll see me.”