I purse my lips and grit my teeth in an attempt to keep quiet. I’m under orders given by the velvety, low voice of the man holding a whip, both a promise and a threat in his half-smirk, and the way he wields the tool with assuredness that can only come from experience. I can’t help but squirm against my bindings, inexorable in their power to hold me in place, helpless.

Most people would call me crazy for doing this, allowing a stranger to dominate me, to make me feel small and feminine...breakable? I can’t deny such a choice could be dangerous. Perhaps, however, that’s the exact thing that drove me to it. The expectation of my quivering flesh under his iron-clad will, at the mercy of his moods and willingly vulnerable.

He's, indeed, a master at what he does. I tremble as a broad hand frames my jaw, thumb tapping against my lower lip until I open up and welcome his digit in my warm, wet mouth. He presses down against my tongue and I feel held in the strangest way I’ve ever thought about, but the effect of such action is undeniable in the glistening between my thighs.

“Suck,” he commands, cold eyes trained on mine.

Wrapping my lips around his finger, now with purpose, I do. He looks to be unaffected by it, which means I am not. Long moments crawl by as I do my best to give rise to a reaction, any reaction. It comes with a quirk to the corner of his mouth when his wet, shiny finger slides down further between my lips. I breathe in a shuddery breath through my nose, exposed and so aroused it’s vaguely painful.

...

Lina’s body twists on the bed, her olive skin shimmering. Her impossibly beautiful body is nude and vulnerable and he’s helpless against the urge to touch it.

He runs his hand from the flat plane of her stomach up the valley of her breasts, which he touches in exploration. Lina whimpers, a vulnerable sound that makes his already hard member pulse. His hands travel up, over her gracious neck, to the side of her face. Her dark eyes watch him, her breathing heavy as if she has been here, under his mercy, for a while now.

Her lips look so soft. When he rests his thumb over them, testing that softness, she parts them and sucks his finger inside her velvety, warm mouth. He holds the nape of her neck and lets her suck for a moment, she fits perfectly in his hand. When he pulls it away, it's to bend down and touch those lips with his, taste as well as feel all that warm softness. She smells so good it makes him dizzy, he remembers it exactly from their first meeting, how he knew right away there was something about her, something more. He whispers her encouragement, because she is, indeed, doing so well.

He wants her so much his mind is almost blank, his hands slide over her skin, her breasts, the softness between her thighs. She doesn't open her legs to grant him better access to her core, and he can’t help but admire the crisscrossing of rope holding her legs together, winding from feet to waist to her shoulders. It took him almost an hour to work the rope artfully around her limbs, teetering wrist to wrist behind her back, framing her breasts, tying her legs folded, together.

…

I can’t help a moan when he kisses me. It’s a welcome reprieve from his dominance, from the sweet torture I have been enduring. Tied up from shoulders to ankles, there isn’t much in the way of protest I can achieve. I’m utterly under his mercy, and it feels as good as it’s terrifying.

“You’re doing so well,” the compliment is unexpected, and soon followed by his teeth against my throat.

He sucks and nibbles lazily, one hand getting its feel of my breasts. I close my eyes and hold back my sounds of pleasure, an order he gave me knowing I would fail. Inevitably, when I do, he pulls back with a satisfied expression and whips my breasts twice. It stings only momentarily, the skin turning a light rosy, the sensitiveness increasing even further.

I squirm, overheated and so aroused I feel like I’m burning up from the inside. With my eyes, I beg him. Take me, punish me, fuck me. He slides two fingers inside my core, testing the wetness – dripping – and the resistance – tight with arousal and relaxed with want. Squirming, throbbing, needy, I know I’m a mess. I love it.

“Please,” my voice breaks with desperation, feverish and primal, “please.”

I expect punishment. Lashes to my breasts, my belly, and the sensitive place between my legs. Suddenly my body is hauled up, turned around, and positioned, my behind now exposed to his gaze. My expectations adjust accordingly, which is why I’m startled at the feel of his throbbing flesh pressing against mine. There’s no whip against my skin, no punishment to my pleasure.

He slides in smooth and easy, the stretch stings deliciously and I moan loudly enough to earn another punishment that I know won’t come any longer. He holds me in place by the rope tying me up, my body his for the taking, he uses me in the most deliciously debased way. His pace is firm, slow, so deep my toes curl with each full thrust. I can feel him in poking my womb, deliciously deep as he invades me.

One of his roughened hands slides under my hips, between my thighs, to worry at my turgid, sensitive clit. I whimper, limbs tense with the expectation of my orgasm as it builds, from the throbbing place between my thighs up in my spine, to my brain. Electric and so amazing I could weep.

“You can come, pet.”

With his permission, his touch, his slow, rhythmic fucking, it doesn’t take long at all. I reach release with a high-pitched groan, my core clenching hard around him. He continues fucking me long and hard, not faltering in the least, not until I reach my climax again, and then one more time. By the time he is finally finished, I have been reduced to a quivering mess of a woman, pure pleasure and feeling contained in an emptied body.