Her resistance was a forgotten memory. A final, ragged sob was torn from the depths of her.

"YOU!" she cried, the single word a final, total capitulation. "I NEED YOU!"

I looked at her then—at her flushed, tear-streaked face, at her body slick with sweat and straining against its beautiful restraints, at the sacred art I had created on her skin. She was free. Completely and utterly free.

I had unmade her, and in doing so, had set her free. And the sounds she made, the beautiful, desperate music of her surrender, were the most exquisite symphony I had ever heard.

Her desperate cries still echoed in the soundproofed room, the ghost of her surrender clinging to the air. I watched her, a beautiful, trembling thing bound to my frame, her body slick with sweat and the proof of her pleasure. She thought the peak had been reached. She had no idea we were still on the foothills.

I walked to the cabinet once more, my footsteps unhurried. Her head lifted, her eyes, though dazed, trying to follow me through a curtain of tangled hair. She saw what I had in my hands: a strip of black, heavy silk.

"No..." The whimper was thin, reedy. "No more... I can't..."

"This isn't about 'more,' Dominique," I said softly, unfolding the blindfold.

"This is about everything." I approached her, and she flinched, turning her head away in a final, pathetic gesture of denial. I gently but firmly took her chin, turning her back to face me.

"Close your eyes."

I stopped. The silence was heavy. Her ass was a beautiful, uniform shade of crimson, hot to the touch.

I placed my palm gently against her marked flesh. The heat was incredible. She sobbed with relief. I began to knead and massage her sore skin, my touch a stark contrast to the sharp sting of the paddle.

My thumbs dug deep into the muscles of her glutes, and her sobs slowly turned into low, guttural moans of pleasure.

I let her stew in that darkness for a full minute. Let her listen. Let her wait. Her body tensed on the frame, a landmine of anticipation.

Then, I touched her. Not with my hand, but with the softest piece of chinchilla fur. I dragged it lightly across her collarbone. The reaction was instantaneous.

"Oh!" A soft, confused gasp. I traced it over the tops of her breasts, down her quivering stomach. A low, appreciative

"Mmmmm" rumbled in her chest. I let the fur drift lower, down her thigh, then back up, letting its tip just barely brush against the slick, swollen folds of her sex.

"Ah-ah-ah!" A sharp, panicked gasp. Her hips bucked, chasing the soft touch.

I smiled. Trust was being built with pleasure. And trust was the most effective weapon of all.

I withdrew the fur, and the lack of sensation made her whimper in protest. A second later, I put the feather back in my hand. I let its tip tickle the side of her ribs.

"A-AH!" She gasped, her entire body jerking as if she'd been shocked. The playful touch was gone, replaced by this maddening, precise teasing. I drew patterns across her stomach, and she began to squirm, her breath coming in panicked little pants.

"No... non... stop... please..." But her hips were lifting, chasing the sensation even as she begged it to stop.

I pumped them in and out, my thumb pressing against her clit. Her body, already overloaded, responded instantly. Her inner muscles clenched around my fingers. Just as she was about to cum, I stopped, pulling my fingers away.

The teasing was reaching its peak. It was time for a new lesson. I set down the feather and picked up a small bowl, a single cube of ice floating in water. I held it between my fingers, then I touched it to the heated skin of her inner thigh.

"AIEEE!" The scream was explosive. She arched violently. I dragged the cube slowly upward, leaving a glistening, freezing trail. I let it trail higher, higher, until it was poised directly over her clit.

"Please! Eros! It's too cold! Oh god, please!"

Then, I lowered my head and took her entire clit into my warm, wet mouth. The contrast was shattering.

"FUUUUUUCK!" The curse was torn from her, a raw, guttural scream of pure, unadulterated shock. The frigid ice against her mons, while my hot tongue swirled and lapped at her most sensitive point, was a sensory paradox her mind couldn't comprehend. I flicked my tongue against the frozen nub, then sucked hard.

She detonated. Her back bowed off the bench, a violent, explosive orgasm ripping through her.

"EROS! EROSEEE!" she screamed, her pussy convulsing, a fresh gush of her cum coating my chin and dripping onto the leather.

As she lay there, panting and Twitching, I rose. I brought my slick fingers, coated in her essence, to her lips.

"Taste yourself," I commanded.

She resisted for a second, her head shaking, but I pressed my fingers against her mouth, insistent. Reluctantly, her lips parted, and I slid them inside.

"Mmmph..." a muffled, humiliated groan vibrated against my fingers as I made her clean them of her own arousal.

Letting her body come down from that first peak, I picked up the feather again. I traced it over her now-hypersensitive nipples, and she cried out;

"Ahhh! Too much! Oh god, please!" Her body was a live wire. As she writhed, I slid one finger, then two, deep inside her slick, welcoming heat. A long, drawn-out

"Ohhhhh yessss..." escaped her. I curled my fingers, finding that rough, ridged spot inside her, and began to massage it with firm, deliberate pressure, all while continuing to torment her clit with the infernal feather.

"Please... please... please..." she babbled, her mind completely gone, lost to the dual assault.

I stopped suddenly, pulling my fingers out. A sob of frustrated denial was her answer. I picked up the small, heated bottle of almond oil and poured a thin, warm stream directly onto her sex.

"Ohhhhhhh..." The sound was a long, shuddering moan of pure relief. My hands returned, slick with oil, massaging her folds, her mons, her inner thighs. I coated her in warmth, in pleasure. Then, my thumb found her clit and began a slow, maddening circle.

I brought her right to the edge, feeling the familiar flutter begin, then I stopped. Her hips bucked wildly. "NO! DON'T STOP! PLEASE!"

"Who owns this pussy, Dominique?" I growled, my voice low and commanding.

"YOU! YOU! OH GOD, YOU!" she sobbed.

As a reward, I began again, faster this time. My thumb was a blur on her clit, my other hand spreading her wide. I lowered my head one last time, my tongue replacing my thumb, and I sucked her clit hard as I drove three fingers deep inside her, pressing hard against her G-spot.

This orgasm was different. It wasn't a sharp explosion, but a deep, rolling earthquake. A silent scream was torn from her throat, her body locking up, her muscles seizing as wave after wave of intense, overwhelming pleasure crashed through her.

She sobbed, she thrashed, she convulsed, a completely wrecked, utterly conquered thing.

I finally pulled away, leaving her a panting, sobbing, oil-and-cum-soaked mess on the leather bench. I leaned in close, my lips brushing her ear.

"Still think you can handle a test, Dominique?"

There was no answer. Only a choked, tearful sob of absolute, unconditional surrender.

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