Enslaved by Claire Thompson Page B

strokes.
    The timer dinged.
    Sam dropped his hand and stepped back.
    “Punishment’s over.”
    ~*~
    It took Rae several seconds to realize what had happened. She’d been on the edge of a powerful orgasm, ready to slide over, in spite of her stinging flesh, in spite of her awkward position and aching feet. Why had he stopped? She wanted to beg him to continue, to let her come, but she snapped her mouth shut before any words slipped out. She’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction. Instead she let her arms fall slowly to her sides. She turned back, keeping her expression as neutral as she could while she struggled to catch her breath.
    “Please, Sir,” she ventured, “may I speak?”
    He nodded, cocking one eyebrow with ironic amusement. Jesus, she wanted to smack his face. Instead she said, “May I take off the heels? They’re hurting me.”
    Again he nodded and she bent down to reach for the shoes, barely able to move in the constricting corset. Giving up, instead she managed to push them off by using the toes of one foot against the heel of the other. She ignored her throbbing cunt, focusing instead on the relief as she flexed her toes.
    She didn’t understand it, but somehow Sam was able to drag these incredible, huge orgasms from her, climaxes so powerful she couldn’t resist them, even if she’d wanted to. What the fuck was that about?
    With most men, most of the time, Rae faked orgasm. It was easier than having to work for it, and men were so easy to fool. A few moans and sighs, some rapid breathing, a sudden tensing of the body and then…”Oh, John (Hank, Robert, Jake, fill in the blank here), that was sooo good. Oh, you are the best…”
    They would puff with pride, preening at what they fancied was their unique ability to really satisfy a woman. She would wait until later, once they’d gone home, or she’d left their place and returned to her own bed, to take her pleasure.
    In point of fact, Sam was one of the few men who had made her come—she hadn’t had to fake a thing. What was it about him? Surely it wasn’t the rope and chain and the arrogant swagger? At the time, she’d chalked it up to her being especially horny that particular night, so horny she’d managed to come in spite of his weird kinks.
    But if that were the case, how did she explain her reactions now? Why was her body, usually immune or at least indifferent to a man’s touch, so orgasmic, in spite of the horrific things he’d done to her? What the hell was going on? Was she losing her mind?
    Sam led her to the bed and she sank gratefully onto the mattress, turning to her side as the sheet chafed her tender ass and thighs. “Lift your arms,” Sam said, as he reached for the long line of sturdy hooks that held the corset in place. As they sprang free, Rae heaved a sigh of relief and drew air gratefully into her expanding lungs. Sam rolled the corset and took it, along with the high heels, to the cabinet along the back wall.
    Returning to stare down at her, he said, “You rest while I get our breakfast.” He turned and walked away, climbing up the stairs. She heard the snick of the lock in the door. Rolling gingerly to her back, she looked down at herself and cupped her shaven pussy, exploring the smooth skin with her fingers.
    She’d been so close to a really powerful orgasm when that stupid timer had gone off. Maybe she’d just finish the job herself. She licked her fingers and touched her inner labia, stroking the folds and seeking the hard button of her clit.
    Again she recalled his admonishment that she wasn’t to touch herself when alone. Well, he shouldn’t have denied her that orgasm, then. She needed to come, to take the edge off. Fuck him, anyway. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or rather, her.
    She closed her eyes, moaning very softly as she stroked herself. The ache he’d left by stopping her just before she came bloomed at once into a hot, urgent need. She rubbed herself fast, aware she might