Page 28 of Magnum, Volume 1

“You aren’t under orders to be quiet,” I noted. I didn’t know if a past Master had required silence, or if it was a matter of pride. If it was the former, I’d need to reprogram her. If it was the latter, then I had a new goal — to force her past her pride and make her vocalize both pleasure and pain without demanding it. I wanted her to give me her sounds without being ordered.

Eventually, her scent shifted from arousal into sharper pain layered over need, but I kept going until pain drowned out all pleasure, and then I gently pulled the toy out.

She was breathing faster now, little shallow pants she couldn’t quite control.

“Looks like you get a fat plug today, slave,” I told her, and dropped the dildo on the floor.

When I stood up to get the plug, she made another small sound, not quite a whimper, and shifted her weight like she was trying to ease the ache I’d left behind.

I couldn’t wait to hear the sounds she’d make when I forced her little asshole open with my dick instead of silicone, but I kind of hoped she didn’t push us to that before our first maintenance session.

How long to wait for it? I wasn’t sure. Usually in the first week, but it depends on the submissive, and my instincts told me Storm would need a great deal of both being bossed around and tons of pleasure before she’d be ready for her first true pain.

I retrieved a large plug from the wall and then took nearly ten minutes working it into her, loving the way her hole distended around it, and the broken, agonized sounds she made.

She says she isn’t a masochist, but I was beginning to believe that only applied to impact play, and likely clamps and needles and such. She absolutely could get off on having her holes hurt, but I’d let her keep thinking she isn’t a heavy masochist, because that worked for me.

She lasted longer than I expected before the sounds started. The first was a sharp, cut-off gasp, but then every slow push drew out another broken sound — soft, desperate little noises she clearly hated making. Her breathing turned ragged, and I could hear the strain in it every time she tried to stay quiet and failed.

When the plug was finally in, I went to the sink to wash my hands, using the time to get my dick under control. Her scent was still thick in the air — pain, submission, and that stubborn thread of arousal that’d stayed strong even when I’d hurt her with the dildo and plug. Also, the rosemary-peppermint of her hair products was stronger than usual. For the rest of my life, it’s possible that particular combination is going to make my dick hard.

But today was about teaching her the protocol, so I told her, “You may rise once I’m gone, and then clean up in here. Today, that means washing the dildo with soap and water, putting it away, and cleaning the floor where the dildo landed. You’ll find supplies in the bottom of the cabinet.” I turned to face her while I dried my hands with a paper towel, and met her gaze. “Dusting begins in the formal living room on the first floor.”

I dropped the paper towel on the floor and left without another word, cock still throbbing in my shorts.

Too often, women thought they liked the idea of being forced to do housework while in high protocol, but the reality of it didn’t work for them. This woman liked to clean, seemed highly aroused by rules and protocols designed to remind her of her place, and apparently craved a situation where she had to work hard to comply. Where obedience wasn’t easy and subservience was required.

And fucking her already-raw cunt tonight was going to hurt her so much worse than her initial breaking-in this morning. The thought of splitting her wide open underneath me again had my cock throbbing hard enough there was no way I’d manage to keep my cool with her, so I detoured to my bedroom to stroke one out and take the edge off.

Chapter 13

Storm

Fuck, I’d never been close enough to an orgasm to warn him, but he’d worked me really-fucking-damned close to it. My asshole burned and clenched around the plug, and I was so damned full inside it felt like it was battling with the cincher for space inside me.

If we were going to go through this every day then he hadn’t been wrong about saying I’m not likely to miss anal.

I stood and looked around at his playroom. Good, sturdy equipment. Nothing extravagant, and I figured he’d made everything except the whiskey barrel, and he’d probably built the stand it was in.

It didn’t take me long to clean up, and it wasn’t going to be possible to forget the plug, the cincher, or the shoes.

I made my way down the stairs and across the house, where he was sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone.

“Bottom right cabinet of the wall unit has the dusting supplies. I assume you know what you’re doing, but I’ll watch and catch any problems before you do the entire house and have to redo your work.”

I eyed the cabinet and had to decide whether to squat to get to it, or just spread my legs, bend over, and give him a show.

I’m not body shy with someone I’m intimate with, so I opted for the easy way, especially considering the shoes. He had a long electrostatic microfiber wand, two handheld dusters in different sizes, and a stack of microfiber cloths in the cabinet.

“When you finish for the day, you’ll need to toss the heads and cloths in the dryer on cool for about ten minutes to get the dust off them. Every so often, they go in the washer, but the dryer does the job in between,” he told me while I was looking around, deciding where to start.

He didn’t have a lot of knick-knacks. The built-in unit was mostly books, and I hoped to hell he didn’t expect me to move them. I swiped every shelf and then went back with the rag to get the crevice between the shelves and the books.

The heels made every step deliberate, and I felt as if I was on display. The plug shifted with every step and every reach, and the cincher kept my posture rigid whether I wanted it or not. I was very aware of him watching, and it made even the simple act of lifting the wand to the top shelf feel especially… not debased or demeaned, but it highlighted my new status as slave. I love cleaning and just generally being pleasing to the man I’ve chosen to submit to, but the heels and cincher added to it and made my position even… louder.

I dusted a lamp on a table, then moved it to dust the table before replacing it. I took three steps and stopped to look at a giant snapping turtle on another table. It had to be two feet long, his scaled reptile neck holding his intimidating head high, mouth closed and eyes looking a little too lifelike.

“Long story,” he said. “Another time. We do have at least one of that size in the lake, though.”