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“Right, then,” he says, and goes back to work, licking and sucking until I am blazing, right on the edge of climax. Everything in me is throbbing. He licks me until I cry out, my hips rising, right at the precipice, then he stops and stands up.

“Are you ready to tell me?” he whispers.

I shake my head. I could cry.

He turns and leaves me tied to the bed with an aching pussy. I am going to die.

Then I hear the clink of a belt buckle, and my heart thumps. He walks back into the room. I already know what I'm going to see before I look. His thick leather belt is wrapped around his hand, and his eyes look murderous.

“You ready to tell me now?” he asks. “Or are you going to keep being a dirty little stubborn whore?” He reaches for the knife and slices off my makeshift gag. “There. Now you can talk.”

“Why don't you go to bed?” I tell him. “You look so tired.”

“I'm not going to bed until I break you.”

“Then I guess you're gonna be up for a good, long while.”

It's my will against his. My father broke my will, and I rebuilt it from the ground up. I know what surviving looks like.

I grit my teeth when he puts his left arm under my thighs, lifts me, doubles his belt in his right hand, and slaps my ass hard with it. I cry out. The burn is both delicious and painful. I want more, and I want him to stop.

I know who I am. I know what I want. My body has apparently decided not to consult me on either.

He brings his arm back. My pulse spikes when he whips me again. “Who's in charge here?”

I grit my teeth. My body throbs. My clit aches.

He whips me again. “Who's in charge?”

I turn my head to the side as he drops me back on the bed.

This time his tongue is savage. He lashes my pussy with it, over and over, until I'm writhing, grinding against him, riding the edge of release. “Do you want to come, you little slut? Do you? Tell your fucking owner you want to come.”

“Fuck off,” I tell him.

He shakes his head, wraps his belt around his hand again, and walks to the side of the bed. The edge of the leather dangles as he reaches over and snaps it against my chest. I scream when the leather hits my breast. Pain blossoms into want.

He slaps the other breast. “Who do you belong to?”

Another thwip.

I clamp my lips together, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. He bends down and caresses the red stripes across my chest with his fingertips, like he's checking his own work.

“You can take a lot of pain, can't you? But how much?”

He bends his body to mine and licks one nipple, then the other. My pussy throbs. My hips writhe, but my ankles are still tied to the bed.

Guess he's a man of his fucking word.

He falls to his knees in front of me again, grips my hips, and licks. “Who do you belong to?” Lick.

I slam my mouth shut.

He shakes his head, presses deep inside me, moans against me, and suckles. “Who's your owner?”

I'm dizzy with the need to come, but I'm sinking deeper and deeper into myself. I'm dying for release, but there’s a certain kind of pleasure in the waiting. I want more. I'm not going to give him what he wants.

His tongue keeps moving. My eyes are squeezed shut, my head rolling from side to side. “Fucking asshole,” I tell him.