own desire, the scents mingling like an aphrodisiac in the air.
A rush of pleasure so fierce it could have been pain hurtled through her body, making her jerk and writhe in her bonds. “Oh, oh, god, oh, please, I—”
“Tell me,” he urged, his voice throaty and low. “Tell me.”
Carly’s head lifted, her muscles contorting in her effort to close her legs against the onslaught of Adam’s relentless fingers. She tried to override the intense sensations that had caused her brain to short-circuit. It was too much, too much. If she could just remember the rest of the rule maybe he would stop, and she could catch her breath, somehow regain some semblance of composure, say the words he demanded from her.
Her body still in the throes of ecstasy, she finally managed to get her brain to spew out the words, hoping she’d remember the ending before she fainted from his touch: I will ask permission to eat, drink, sleep, use the toilet, shower, speak and… “To orgasm!” she shouted, jerking in her restraints.
Finally his hand fell away. She hung upside down, trembling, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, her cunt throbbing. Adam knelt down in front of her, his mouth lifted in a sardonic grin, his eyebrows lifted.
Oh, shit.
“What just happened, Carly?”
He was going to make her say it, adding insult to her injury.
Carly closed her eyes, but forced herself to speak. “I came without permission, Sir.”
“That’s right, Carly. You did. What happens to slave girls who break the rules?”
“They get punished, Sir.”
He nodded. “They do.”
Reaching for the nipple clamps, he released them in tandem.
Carly screamed.
~*~
As Adam let the girl down from the bar, his impulse was to take her into his arms and suckle away the pain at her nipples. He was not an impulsive man, he reminded himself, and she was not his lover.
He could see the tears in her eyes and the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, but beyond those uncontrollable physical reactions, who knew what was real? He wanted to believe the explosive orgasm he’d seemed to pull from her was authentic, but well knew women’s ability to fake it, even supposed slave girls.
She swayed as he helped her to stand, dizzy from the blood rushing away from her head. Adam reached to steady her, and then pressed at her shoulder. “Kneel and thank me,” he ordered the purchased slave, pointing toward his bare feet. Dutifully the girl dropped to her knees. Her lips were soft as they fluttered over his skin.
“We clearly have a lot of work to do in terms of teaching you to focus,” he said to the top of her head as the girl continued to kiss his feet. “You barely got through the second rule.” Adam smiled in spite of himself as he said this. If she had been faking, she deserved an Oscar. “You’ll recite the rules for me later. Right now I have a few things to attend to. This will be an excellent time for you to do your morning chores.”
He led her downstairs to the master bedroom and retrieved the stiletto heels he had bought for whatever slave girl he brought home. Glancing now at Carly's feet, he thought the shoes might be a little big, but they would do.
“You will wear these for all your chores,” he informed her. Reaching into the drawer he’d set aside for the other items he’d purchased in anticipation of a slave girl’s arrival, Adam pulled out the hobbling cuffs and the outfit she would wear while cleaning.
“Put this on.” He handed her the bustier and white lacey French maid’s apron, smiling as he watched her struggle into the tight-fitting outfit. The bustier forced her breast together, the top halves spilling lusciously over the bone-stayed satin. It fit tight, tighter than he knew was comfortable, but as long as she could breathe, she should be fine. The apron accentuated her slender waist, while hiding little of her smooth, bare body beneath it. She stepped into the high heels, wobbling slightly as he knelt to attach the
A rush of pleasure so fierce it could have been pain hurtled through her body, making her jerk and writhe in her bonds. “Oh, oh, god, oh, please, I—”
“Tell me,” he urged, his voice throaty and low. “Tell me.”
Carly’s head lifted, her muscles contorting in her effort to close her legs against the onslaught of Adam’s relentless fingers. She tried to override the intense sensations that had caused her brain to short-circuit. It was too much, too much. If she could just remember the rest of the rule maybe he would stop, and she could catch her breath, somehow regain some semblance of composure, say the words he demanded from her.
Her body still in the throes of ecstasy, she finally managed to get her brain to spew out the words, hoping she’d remember the ending before she fainted from his touch: I will ask permission to eat, drink, sleep, use the toilet, shower, speak and… “To orgasm!” she shouted, jerking in her restraints.
Finally his hand fell away. She hung upside down, trembling, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, her cunt throbbing. Adam knelt down in front of her, his mouth lifted in a sardonic grin, his eyebrows lifted.
Oh, shit.
“What just happened, Carly?”
He was going to make her say it, adding insult to her injury.
Carly closed her eyes, but forced herself to speak. “I came without permission, Sir.”
“That’s right, Carly. You did. What happens to slave girls who break the rules?”
“They get punished, Sir.”
He nodded. “They do.”
Reaching for the nipple clamps, he released them in tandem.
Carly screamed.
~*~
As Adam let the girl down from the bar, his impulse was to take her into his arms and suckle away the pain at her nipples. He was not an impulsive man, he reminded himself, and she was not his lover.
He could see the tears in her eyes and the sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, but beyond those uncontrollable physical reactions, who knew what was real? He wanted to believe the explosive orgasm he’d seemed to pull from her was authentic, but well knew women’s ability to fake it, even supposed slave girls.
She swayed as he helped her to stand, dizzy from the blood rushing away from her head. Adam reached to steady her, and then pressed at her shoulder. “Kneel and thank me,” he ordered the purchased slave, pointing toward his bare feet. Dutifully the girl dropped to her knees. Her lips were soft as they fluttered over his skin.
“We clearly have a lot of work to do in terms of teaching you to focus,” he said to the top of her head as the girl continued to kiss his feet. “You barely got through the second rule.” Adam smiled in spite of himself as he said this. If she had been faking, she deserved an Oscar. “You’ll recite the rules for me later. Right now I have a few things to attend to. This will be an excellent time for you to do your morning chores.”
He led her downstairs to the master bedroom and retrieved the stiletto heels he had bought for whatever slave girl he brought home. Glancing now at Carly's feet, he thought the shoes might be a little big, but they would do.
“You will wear these for all your chores,” he informed her. Reaching into the drawer he’d set aside for the other items he’d purchased in anticipation of a slave girl’s arrival, Adam pulled out the hobbling cuffs and the outfit she would wear while cleaning.
“Put this on.” He handed her the bustier and white lacey French maid’s apron, smiling as he watched her struggle into the tight-fitting outfit. The bustier forced her breast together, the top halves spilling lusciously over the bone-stayed satin. It fit tight, tighter than he knew was comfortable, but as long as she could breathe, she should be fine. The apron accentuated her slender waist, while hiding little of her smooth, bare body beneath it. She stepped into the high heels, wobbling slightly as he knelt to attach the
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