“Can’t Master…..” Her voice was faint, husky, breathless, spent.
“You will. I demand it.”
Demand all You want, she thought silently. It’s drained. Dead. Sore. Tired. Nothing left. Nada.
She lay on her back, He lay beside her, His arm wrapped under her neck, idly pinching her shoulder, arm and breast as His hand moved lazily over her.
His other hand was trailing down her belly, back up, then down again, lower each time, dipping ever closer to the swollen vee between her thighs.
Her body was painted in marks from those same hands…bruises that matched His fingers, long red welts from a judiciously utilized cane, purple ovals from his teeth, and flat red marks from the wooden paddle.
His finger continued to caress each mark, badges of an afternoon well spent in submissive and Dominant raptures, punctuated with bouts of heavy, intense sex.
The room smelled richly of mating fluids.
At long last, though she may have continued to believe it was far too soon, His fingers slipped down between reddened folds, to fondle her clit.
Her moan was instantaneous, and He could tell, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Such a little slut, His subgirl. To be sure, He knew her pussy must hurt like fuck-all, but she was still greedy for His touch.
He looked down at her. Tits heaving, nipples puckered tightly, and her legs spread widely open. In juxtaposition, her head was thrown back, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
A smile curved His lips, as he looked at the wanton slut cradled in His grasp. His fingers dipped into her pussy, His thumb caressing her aching clit.
He knew it was there, hiding.
One last orgasm.
Even as she arched, a tight-strung bow, snapping with the force of the explosion He pulled from her, His lips danced along her ear.
“I knew it, didn’t I, little girl? Yes, you can. And did.”
“And will, again.”