I used my elbows to prop myself back up to my hands. My arms were shaky. I wasn’t sure if it was for my comfort or your arousal, but you seemed to like me like this—defenseless and exposed. Blindfolded, strapped down, spread eagle, whatever you wanted. One of your oiled palms pressed down on the small of my back while you speared me with your fingers.
“Was that three?” I asked tightening up around you with a shudder of panic. My ass cheeks squeezed together and in response, you buried your fingers even deeper. What if you didn’t fit? Maybe my insides were deformed or something—too narrow or too short.
“That was two,” you assured me in a soothing voice. “Breathe like you were taught to do by Madame.”
Madame Lavoie always told me to go back to my breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, so that’s what I did. I tried to remember how to breathe while your fingers twisted and curled, stretching me out like a too-small coat. My asshole burned but the motion of your fingers made me ache for more.
“So firm,” you said with your fingers buried deep inside me. “So supple and yielding everywhere else, but here, so stubborn.”
“I’m sorry?” My shoulders and back were tense despite the massage you’d given me that morning.
“It’s going to hurt,” you said, sounding a little excited by it. “Is that what you want?”
Not really, I thought. I tolerated pain pretty well, but I didn’t go seeking it. Still, if I wanted you to continue—and I did, desperately—I knew the answer to your question. You’d been cock-teasing me for months.
“Yes,” I gritted out as your third finger slipped inside. It felt like my ass was being filleted, but I wanted you so bad I would accept whatever you had to give me. My chest was slick with sweat as I skimmed one hand across it and reached down to stroke my flagging cock. I yanked on it hard. I wanted to smother this strange sensation of being suspended between pleasure and pain. Pried open without being satisfied completely.
“I want to hear your noises,” you said, and I whimpered because I’d been holding back my cries for fear that you might stop.
“That’s it,” you coaxed as your fingers twisted inside me. I groaned from the bottom of my balls and swore you were massaging my guts.
And then you removed your fingers altogether, and I was left to throb and ache. So hollow. You taught me what it meant to want.
“Henri,” I begged. “Don’t leave me like this.”
“Only for a moment.” I heard the soft slick of your hand sliding against your cock as you lubed yourself up. I glanced back to watch you. So very sexy. And a little intimidating too. You had the posture and confidence of a warrior. I imagined you with a spear or a sword, driving it into your enemies’ soft, human flesh, telling them to cry out when you stabbed them because you wanted to hear what it sounded like as they died.
Your eyes caught mine, and you smiled through the fog of lust. Your eyes burned with desire, and you no longer seemed so concerned about my comfort. Your hands were a little rougher as you tilted my ass towards your proud, protruding cock. Your fingers ground into my thighs as you jerked me backward, until my backside was snug against your groin. Your dick tipped up like an arrow and then lowered. I felt the point of it kissing my entrance.
“Relax your shoulders and take a deep breath,” you commanded.
I was just exhaling as you drove into me like a blade.
I howled from the sensation of you flaying me in half. My hole flared angrily around your thickness. Your hips locked against me, and you held me so tightly I couldn’t get away if I’d tried.
“Bow before me,” you said, and I dutifully dropped my shoulders and chest, arching up and pressing back into you, forcing you deeper inside me. You gasped in pleasure while I struggled to breathe.
“Does it hurt?” you asked.
“Yesss,” I hissed with a vicious edge to my voice.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I was tempted to call your bluff, but I’d be devastated if you followed through.
“No,” I whimpered.
And then you slowly drew back, one millimeter at a time, as if to prolong the torture of having you inside me and then not.
“Henri, I said—”
My speech was interrupted by your cock plunging back into me, as if it were possible to go deeper. You nudged up against my prostate and my whole body lit up like a Christmas tree. Blood flowed so hard and fast to my dick that it hurt. I reached between my legs to grab hold of it and you thundered, “No.”
“No?” I asked weakly. My voice was shaking. I was pinned to the mattress.
“Feel me first,” you said with the tone of unquestioning authority. Was this the voice you used with your soldiers when you wanted them to obey? It worked. I’d do whatever you told me, exactly the way you wanted it.
“Invite me in,” you coaxed. “You have something I want and fighting me won’t prevent me from getting it.”
