Page 43 of The Enslaved Duet

It didn’t feel finished, though. My skin still buzzed as currents ran like tantalizing ribbons over my sensitive skin. My hips canted back instinctively, searching for friction.

I panted.

“Master says come,” he said again, wicked humour in his voice as he perverted the child’s gameSimone diceor Simon says.

Even as I wanted to roll my eyes at his artifice, I admired the quirkiness of his mind.

Another shock surged through me, making me pause and pant through it.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and looked up at him. “I didn’t do anything wrong that time?”

“I will say whether or not you are obeying my orders,” he said coldly. “Crawl.”

I resumed my steady pace toward him.

“Take your breasts out,” he ordered.

I used one shaking hand at a time to scoop my flesh out of the corset into the cool air of the hall. They weren’t shaking with fear or fury but deep, bone-stirring arousal.

It was as if the electric shock had tied my nipples too tightly in copper wire, so that each shock pierced brutally through the tender flesh.

I was moments away from orgasming. My pussy was a leaky faucet dripping down my thighs to pool in the backs of my knees as I crawled and crawled and crawled.

He stopped me again, commanding me to kneel and play with my hard clit for him. I shifted on my heels and let my fingers find that diamond of sensation. My head fell back on my shoulders as I felt it throb against my circling fingers.

“You don’t like it soft. Pinch it. Pluck at it. Twist that pussy with your fingers until you want to come for me,” he said, and his voice was even heavier, pressing on me like the absolute silence of a mid-summer desert.

My fingers plucked and pulled at my wet flesh, barely finding traction in the slippery folds. I gyrated softly back and forth before I could stop myself, grasping for something more, needing friction against my cunt.

“Stop,” he said, and when I took too long, electricity stole through me like a full body sting.

My fingers pressed hard into my clit so I wouldn’t come, and my breath stuttered out of my lungs like an old engine rattling under the hood of a car.

“Crawl.”

I was going to cry.

The tears pushed at the backs of my eyes, creeping along the seam of my eyelids and finally, despite my efforts, they fell. The wetness was scorching against my cheeks. I could hear the splat of each drop fall to the floor in Alexander’s compressing silence.

His utter stillness and calm only served to emphasise the riot of sensations raging through my body and the small sounds I made to release the pressure as they mounted inside me. I panted, cried, groaned, and whimpered. Alexander seemed to collect each confirmation of my arousal and pain like precious gems.

I had no doubt he wanted to polish them to a higher shine.

Finally, I reached him, stopping only when my cheek was pressed to the inside of his knee. My tears and sweat saturated the fabric. Alexander placed a hand on my head, and it centered my buzzing electrons like a lightning conductor.

My tears dried up with one last hiccough.

“Such a good little mouse,” he praised.

If it wasn’t for the thick erection pressing violently against his trousers beside my cheek, I wouldn’t have known he was aroused at all.

A shiver zipped my spine straight vertebrae by vertebrae.

Why did I find his barely leashed restraint so alluring?

“Up here. Kneel over the back,” he said as he stood up into my kneeling form, forcing his cock against my cheek and dragging it up my forehead as he reached his full height.

Suddenly, I wanted it out of his trousers and in my mouth.