Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
My voice is flat. Controlled. The voice of a man about to deliver consequences.
"I didn't give you permission to come on my fingers. You took that orgasm without asking. That's theft, Scarletta. You stole something that belongs to me."
I flip the switch and the vibrator hums to life, a low buzz that fills the clearing.
"Do you know what happens to little sluts who steal?"
She shakes her head, though I suspect she already knows. She's written scenes like this. She's imagined exactly what I'm about to do to her.
"They get punished."
I step closer, close enough to press the vibrating head against her inner thigh, just inches from her swollen pussy.
"I'm going to make you come again."
I drag the vibrator higher, tracing a path through the wetness coating her skin.
"And again."
Higher still, until I'm circling her clit with the edge of the vibrating head, not quite making direct contact.
"And again."
I meet her eyes.
"Until you pass out."
Her breath catches.
"That's your punishment. Not denial. Not pain. Pleasure. So much pleasure your body won't be able to process it anymore. So many orgasms that you'll be begging me to stop, and I won't, because you didn't stop when I didn't give you permission."
I press the vibrator directly against her clit.
Her reaction is immediate, her hips jerking forward, a moan tearing from her throat. She's still so sensitive from the last orgasm that the stimulation must be almost painful.
"You're going to come for me over and over, until you can't stay conscious anymore. And when you wake up, you're going to remember that every orgasm belongs to me. Every time you come, it's because I allowed it. Because I chose to give it to you."
I increase the pressure slightly.
"Now be a good little slut and scream for me."
Chapter 10
Scarletta
The vibrator presses against my clit and the world narrows to a single point of sensation.
I'm already so sensitive from coming on his fingers, from the cane strike, from the flogger on my breasts. Every nerve ending is raw and exposed, screaming for relief and stimulation in equal measure. The buzz of the wand cuts through all of it, demanding my body's complete attention.
I come almost immediately.
My back arches against the cross, my wrists straining at the metal restraints, and my mouth falls open on a sound I don't recognize. It's not a moan or a scream, but something between the two. Something animal, and desperate, and entirely beyond my control.
"Good girl." His voice reaches me through the haze, distant but approving.
The orgasm crests and breaks and I'm gasping for air, my chest heaving, my thighs trembling in the restraints. But he doesn't move the vibrator. He keeps it pressed firmly against my clit, the relentless buzz continuing without pause.
No. No, it's too much, it's—
Another orgasm builds before the first one has even finished receding. My body doesn't ask permission. My body doesn't care that I'm overstimulated, that my clit is swollen and aching, that every touch feels like electricity arcing through my nervous system. My body responds to the vibration the way it's designed to respond, clenching and releasing and climbing toward another peak whether I want it to or not.
I come again.
This time I do scream, the sound torn from my throat by the intensity of the sensation. My vision blurs at the edges, the jungle dissolving into smears of green and gold while his face remains sharp and focused in front of me. He's watching me fall apart. He's watching me lose control of my own body and he's not stopping.
You're going to come for me over and over until you can't stay conscious anymore.
His words echo in my mind as the third orgasm hits, rolling through me like a wave I can't outrun. My muscles are starting to cramp from the sustained tension. My lungs are burning because I keep forgetting to breathe between the spasms. My thoughts are fragmenting, scattering like papers in a wind I can't control.
This is when it happened before.
The recognition cuts through the pleasure-fog with sudden, sharp clarity.
This is when I started losing time.
I remember the auction. I remember the playroom. I remember coming so hard I blacked out, over and over, waking up in his lap with no memory of how I got there. He called it subspace psychosis afterward, gave me academic citations and clinical terminology, explained it as a documented phenomenon in deeply bonded power exchange relationships.
But I don't want that now.
I don't want to lose this. I don't want to wake up tomorrow and have gaps in my memory where this experience should be. I don't want to watch footage of myself on a screen like I did on Christmas morning, seeing my own face twisted in ecstasy while my conscious mind was somewhere else entirely.
I want to remember.
The fourth orgasm crashes through me and the blackness closes in at the edges of my vision. My body is responding without my mental input now, the way it did before, the physical mechanics of pleasure operating independent of my awareness. I can feel myself slipping, feel the dissociative fog creeping in, feel my consciousness trying to retreat from the overwhelming intensity.