Her body was a limp, trembling canvas, painted with the flush of her surrender and the sharp, red marks of her paddle. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal, sweat, and the lingering tang of fear. I stood before her, a predator admiring his catch, her limbs still bound to the frame, her eyes unfocused and dazed.

She thought the evaluation was over.

How cute~

"Did you think we were finished?" I asked, my voice a low, dangerous purr.

She flinched, her eyes slowly focusing on me. The fear in them was immediate. "Please... Master... I... I can't..."

"Oh, you can," I smiled, a dark, promising thing. "And you will. We've played with your body, Dominique. Now, we play with your mind. We play with your very soul."

I walked to the foot of the frame, kneeling between her spread legs. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching in panicked anticipation. I didn't touch her with my hands. I just leaned forward and blew a soft, deliberate stream of air across her slick, swollen folds.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Sharp, desperate little gasps. Her hips lifted, a blatant, mindless offering.

"So responsive," I murmured in praise. "Such a needy little pussy." I let the tip of my tongue flick out, just barely tasting her. Her entire body jerked as if struck by lightning.

"Oh! MERDE!"

I did it again, a long, slow, deliberate lap from her entrance to her clit. Her hips bucked wildly.

"Please... please, Master..." she whined, the sound pathetic and beautiful.

"Please what?" I mused, tracing her folds with a single finger, her arousal coating my digit. "Please stop? Or please don't you dare stop?"

"Please... don't stop..."

I chuckled, a low, dirty sound. "I'm not stopping." I leaned in and began to eat her in earnest. My Tongue was a weapon of mass destruction, my eyes showing me every single glowing nerve, telling me exactly where to press, where to flick, where to suck.

I drove two fingers inside her, curling them to press against that rough, sensitive spot on her front wall. My touch made every swirl of my tongue, every thrust of my fingers feel like a bolt of pure, condensed ecstasy.

Her body instantly went rigid. Her moans became constant, high-pitched and frantic. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Yes! There! Oh god, right there, Master!"

I could feel her inner muscles beginning to tighten, that tell-tale flutter signaling the onset of her climax. She was right there, balanced on the knife's edge.

"Stop," I commanded.

I pulled my mouth and fingers away at the exact same second. The effect was like slamming a door on paradise. Her body convulsed in mid-air, a sheen of sweat on her skin, a choked-off sob of pure, agonizing denial tearing from her throat.

"N-NO! PLEASE! MASTER, WHY?!" she screamed, thrashing against the cuffs in a sudden, violent burst of energy.

"That was a good girl," I said calmly, ignoring her hysterics as I stood up. "You almost came without permission. Such a good, obedient girl for not cumming."

"But I need to! PLEASE!" she wailed.

"And you will," I promised, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "When I say so. Not a second before." I picked up the feather. "But you see, I enjoy watching you need. I enjoy watching this desperate, hungry little slut squirm." The degradation was a physical blow. She flinched as if I'd struck her.

I began the cycle again. The feather on her clit, teasing, tormenting. My fingers inside her, building the pressure. My voice in her ear, telling her how beautiful she looked when she was suffering, how good she would feel when she was finally allowed to explode. I brought her to the edge three more times.

Each time, her begging became more desperate, more incoherent. Each denial was more devastating. She was a mess of tears, slobber, and sweat, a mindless, writhing creature of pure need.

"Please, Master, let me cum..." she sobbed.

"Look at me," I commanded. She struggled, but her tear-filled eyes found mine. "Tell me you don't want it. Tell me you want to be a good girl and hold it for me. Beg me not to let you cum."

Tears streamed down her face. The conflict was tearing her apart. The ultimate mindfuck. With a shuddering, broken sob, she capitulated. "Please... Master... please don't let me cum... I want to be good... please don't let me..."

"Good girl," I praised, and the words were a caress. Then I leaned down, my mouth once again claiming her. This time, there was no teasing. This was a full-scale assault. I unleashed everything I had.

My thumb on her clit, my fingers pistoning into her, my mouth sucking and licking. The pleasure was overwhelming, a force of nature.

She tried to hold on. Her whole body locked up, fighting the wave with everything she had. She was sobbing, her entire being focused on this one, impossible task.

And that's when I broke my own rule.

"Now," I growled against her flesh. "Cum for me now. All of it."

The command was a key. The permission was a detonator. The orgasm ripped through her like nothing I had ever engineered. It wasn't a wave; it was a tsunami.

A raw, tearing scream was ripped from her lungs as her entire body arched into a violent, convulsing seizure. Her pussy clamped down like a vise, and she didn't just gush; she erupted.

A spray of her cum soaked my chest, the bench, the floor. It went on and on, a series of explosive, shattering contractions that left her a limp, gasping, utterly spent rag doll.

I let the silence hang for a long moment. Her body was still twitching with aftershocks. Then, I moved. I began to unbind her.

First her ankles, then her wrists. The leather cuffs came away with soft clicks. I worked slowly, methodically, unraveling the beautiful crimson shibari harness. The rough ropes fell away, revealing deep, red indentations on her skin—temporary brands of my ownership.

When she was completely free, she didn't move. She just lay there, curled into a fetal position on the leather bench, trembling, crying softly. She was free from her bonds, but utterly captive to her need.

I stood back and waited. It was the final test.

After a long minute, she stirred. Slowly, painfully, she uncurled. She pushed herself up, her muscles protesting, and slid off the bench. Her legs gave way, but she didn't fall. She sank.

To her knees.

She crawled to me, the movement slow, deliberate, and worshipful. She stopped at my feet, her head bowed, her tear-streaked hair hiding her face. Then, she looked up, her eyes burning with a new, terrifying devotion.

"Please, Master..." she whispered, her voice raw and hoarse.

"Please... use your cock... and make me yours completely."

***

The office was dim now, lit only by the city bleeding through the blinds in long, thin stripes of neon and starlight. The hum of the world outside was a distant pulse, a forgotten rhythm. Here, time had slowed to the languid beat of her own heart.

Catherine was sunk low on the couch, her body a long, slim curve against the leather. Her shirt had been the first thing to go, discarded in a heap on the floor.

Her naked upper body was a pale landscape in the gloom, the gentle curves of her ribs leading to small, perfect breasts—pert and high, the creamy mounds barely a handful yet exquisitely sensitive, capped with deep rose nipples that pebbled tight and erect in the cool air, throbbing faintly with each hitch of her breath, areolas puckered into textured halos that begged for the wet heat of a mouth or the sharp pinch of fingers.

Her hair, usually a severe, elegant knot, was down, a dark cascade around her shoulders.

She looked younger, softer, like she'd shed her armor along with her clothes—though lower down, her skirt had hiked up scandalously, revealing the shadowed apex of her thighs where her pussy lay bare and aching, lips flushed a deep pink and swollen with arousal.

The slick folds parted just enough to glimpse the glistening entrance clenching rhythmically around nothing, her engorged clit peeking from its hood like a slick pearl, pulsing visibly in time with her gaze.

But her eyes, fixed on the large screen on her wall, were burning—pupils blown wide with raw hunger as the feed played out:

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