Monday, 6 June 2016
I close my eyes as my stomach takes a roller-coaster plunge. My thighs press themselves together.
I must have murmured something that sounded like a question because he’s suddenly standing over me again, peering down solemnly. ‘I don’t think that can go unpunished. Do you?’
I squirm, blushing furiously. ‘No,’ I whisper at last.
His eyebrows go up. ‘No? No what?’
Another powerful jolt of pleasure surges through me. ‘No, sir.’
He smiles. ’Good girl.’
I watch as he crosses the room to the dressing table, where a selection of objects is scattered. An ebony grooming set. Christopher selects one of the objects and hefts it in his hand, as though testing the weight. I tremble as I realise what it is. A hairbrush.
When he returns to the bed with it, I can hardly breathe. I just stare at it, wide-eyed and fearful, absolutely unable to speak. My silent compliance seems to please him. Although his expression is severe, at least there is the hint of a smile in his eyes.
He lays the hairbrush on the nightstand and sets about unfastening the silken ropes from the curtains around the bed. He takes his time, gently untangling each knot before slipping it free of the material. My heart bangs in my chest, pounding in time to the throbbing between my legs.
I want him to hurry, to get it over with. I want him to take all day.
At last he comes back to me. Taking me by the arm, he pulls me up and takes the pillows from beneath my head. He piles them in the centre of the bed and nods towards them. It’s painfully obvious what he wants me to do, but I can only stare at him pleadingly. My body simply won’t move.
He moves it for me, hauling me across the pile of softness, positioning me diagonally on the bed, with my bottom raised high in the air. I close my eyes, feeling lightheaded. When he ties my wrists together, I sink even deeper into a kind of submissive bliss.
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