my whole life. And for it to be her, Daphne, my Daphne—
The time of punishment is over. Now I’ll reward her so well. I’ll play her body and make it sing.
I undo the nipple clamp even as I suckle harder on her clit. Her head flies back, her body shaking in the grip of orgasm. Her cries ring out.
That’s right. That’s right, beautiful.
And just when her cries reach their crescendo, I undo the second clamp and the second rush of pain hits her, prolonging her orgasm or launching her into a second, I’m not quite sure. But I’m there, just the tip of my tongue flipping ruthlessly back and forth over her clit until she’s screaming at the top of her lungs and thrashing on the bed.
Pain plus pleasure just delivered her the most incredible, raw climax of her life. Unbelievable.
She stretches out her hand as far as the restraints allow, moaning, “Please. Please let me touch you now.”
I lift my head from between her legs, my own erection pulsing so hard it’s painful between my legs. Sweat dots her brow and her hair is damp against her forehead. Her pupils are blown from pleasure.
She’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my whole fucking life. I can’t stand it. I have to have my own relief.
I want to thrust inside her beautiful, dripping sex. Even imagining her tight heat enveloping me is almost enough to have me spilling in my pants.
Daphne, my Daphne, finally, I could finally—
Instead, I whip away from her and yank my cock out of my pants, grab the base of it and then pump furiously.
Daphne
He turns from me. His head bowed, his shoulders hunched and shuddering. He’s jerking himself off and no matter how I crane my head, I can’t see anything beyond his dark profile, gilt in dying firelight.
He’s still completely dressed while I’m stretched out bare and naked. Even now, while he pleasures himself. I can somewhat understand about his face, but why does he hide the rest of his body from me?
And he won’t let me touch him. Why? Does he hate me that much? Or is he ashamed of how he looks? The thought strikes me and I sag back. I don’t understand, there’s so much I don’t understand.
The Beast groans. His back judders as if he’s cumming. For a moment there’s no sound but his ragged breaths.
Then he heads to the bathroom—I still can’t see anything. When he returns, the side of his face I can see is unreadable, but he has a warm cloth in his hand and a jar.
He sits on the bed beside me, silent at first as he rubs the warm cloth between my legs. When he finally speaks, a wave of relief runs through my body. “You were beautiful tonight. I’m so proud of you.”
Why do his words make me want to cry? After all I’ve achieved in my life…but as he dips his fingers into the jar of what turns out to be salve and rubs them oh so gently over my poor, abused nipples, I realize that all the praise I got throughout my life was never about me. I was always praised for what I achieved. Not for who I was—at least, not after my mother died. Tears spring to my eyes and I blink them back, hoping he doesn’t notice them.
Next he undoes the restraints, rubbing the marks on my wrists. So gentle now, the opposite of the demanding Master earlier. Or maybe not the opposite, maybe it’s just the other side of the coin. This is the whole man. He’ll never inflict more than I can handle, and he’ll always be here after to soothe and care for me.
I curl into him as he gathers me into his arms and carries me to the armchair. I’m drowsy. Where I was strung tight as a guitar string earlier, now I’m limp and loose.
He builds up the fire and returns to the chair, lifting me and taking a seat. I’m in his lap, surrounded by his warmth, his strength. He’s still dressed and I’m still naked, but it’s still so good, so wonderful to be so close to him. I’ve never felt more connected to a human being and I never want him to let me go. He’s touching me everywhere, and in my way, I’m touching him. Well, the most he’ll let me.
I don’t know how long we sit like that, cozy as a couple. I try to stay