But now, tied down with Price’s cock plowing my paddled ass, my heart was in it. I was surrendered, one hundred percent. The more I ground against the pillows, the harder he fucked me. Each time he pressed deep, I felt so, so close to coming. He let go of my ass cheeks and held my hips, drilling me. I lost myself in the steady fuck, and the feel of his hands grasping my skin, forcing me to take him, and my God, the pounding felt so…good…on…my…clit.
“Please, please, please,” I murmured over and over. I meant Please don’t stop, and Please keep hurting me, and Please let me survive this. Please never untie me. Please fuck me like this every hour of every day.
When I could hardly bear it anymore, my orgasm exploded, unraveling in an agonizing series of pulses, hot pleasure constricting my pussy and ass. I wished he had been embracing me. I needed someone to cling to, someone to shudder against. His cock felt wonderful deep inside me, but he wasn’t holding me, and it didn’t feel like enough.
I guess that was the punishment part of it. Good girl. Bad girl. Play these games with me and I’ll make you orgasm, but only on my terms.
Now he was coming too, nice and deep and firm. Since I’d already come, I let myself lie there and experience his power and his own harsh gasps.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he said. “Holy fuck.”
He collapsed on top of me, twitching through a few last shallow thrusts. My body still clenched around him in intermittent pulses, unwilling to let the last throes of ecstasy fade.
“Are you alive?” he asked, when I didn’t move for long moments.
I pressed my face against the bed. “My ass hurts.”
“An occasional side effect of surrender. You did great though. You were very…determined,” he said, borrowing a word from my evaluation.
I could hear true pleasure in his voice, and it gave me a warm, trembly feeling. He kissed my shoulder as I blinked behind the mask.
“Star-shadows shine,” he said beside my ear. “How many stars in your bowl? How many shadows in your soul?”
“I don’t know.” My voice sounded quavery compared to his. “Whose poem is that?”
“D.H. Lawrence.” I felt him stretch, felt his ab muscles slide against my back. His wet, warm tongue traced my skin from earlobe to jaw. “He was a pervert. Most poets are perverts,” he said when he finished with the tongue bath.
I shivered as he pulled back and left me. I always felt so empty after I’d been assfucked. Not empty enough to beg him to do it again, but still.
“Are you going to untie me?” I asked when I heard him return from the bathroom.
“When you answer my poetic questions.” I felt the bed dip between my legs, and then his palms running up my thighs. “How many stars in your bowl, Chere?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
He traced his fingers back and forth over my ass cheeks, over the lines he’d put there earlier. They still ached, a sharp reminder of his power, and my hunger for it. He asked me again, in an insistent tone that demanded an answer. “How many stars in your bowl?”
“Let me think about it.”
I closed my eyes behind the mask, and thought about all the things I had to be happy for, and all the things that challenged me, and my intimate circle of trusted friends. “Eighty to ninety stars. Maybe.”
He laughed at that. “Am I one of them?”
I wiggled my ass. You’re my sun, I thought. My main star. No matter how I wish it otherwise, everything in my life revolves around you.
That was a scary thought, because, surrender aside, I still didn’t know if he could be trusted. I didn’t know if the violence or the tenderness was his true face. He was being so tender now, stroking me, soothing all the places he’d hurt.
“How many shadows in your soul?” he asked.
“Shadows?” I thought a bit longer about that one. Simon, for sure. Cantor? Kind of. My parents, definitely. My old clients? How many of them had there been? Hundreds over the course of a decade? “I have a lot of shadows,” I said. “Maybe four or five thousand, if you’re talking about my entire life.”
The bed creaked. He shifted, then pressed his lips to the base of my spine. He kissed me there, a soft, tentative kiss that was over too soon.
“I’m sorry I have to hurt you to get off,” he said. “Thank you for being brave enough to surrender to me. It means more than you know.”
This sudden, and no doubt fleeting, show of sincerity made me feel shy. He was like a star and a shadow, light on one side and dark on the other.
“I want to see you,” I said. “I answered your questions. Now you have to take off the mask.”