Suddenly, just as I was about to crest, Maître moved up my body and placed his hands on either side of the bar separating my hands. The force of his strength pinning me down made warmth gather between my legs.
I managed to take in a breath just as he placed himself at my entrance and slammed inside. I was glad his heavily muscled body kept me down as the wave of pleasure that overcame me caused me to bow off the mattress, testing the bars’ strength. My channel squeezed, seeking release, and Maître growled in response.
“Ma chérie,” he said, his voice thick and strained. Maître thrust harder and harder into me. I was slowly falling apart. I was willingly giving myself to this man.
Maître pulled out of me, and I moaned at the loss. I heard steady footsteps across the room then felt him on the bed again. The classical music and my breathing created a heady symphony as I waited for what came next. I called out in surprise when Maître used the spreader bar at my feet to turn me over. My breasts pressed against the PVC sheet; then I felt a sharp swat to my behind. I cried out. Not in pain, but…I felt it again. And I wanted more. I wanted more and more.
“Flogging,” Maître said, just as another smack lashed my cheeks. It didn’t hurt; the subtle sting the soft strands brought carried a feeling of electricity racing up my back, switching on every erogenous zone I had on me.
When Maître flogged me again, he aimed lower, the strands brushing my clit. I groaned at the addictive sensation, desperately wanting it back again. Sweat built on my forehead, and I tried to grip the PVC sheet beneath me just for something to ground me.
“I will bring you pleasure,” Maître said. His voice was calm. “Never pain.” Maître lashed the flogger down again. I’d barely had enough time to familiarize myself with the static currents buzzing through me when he pushed inside me again, smacking the flogger down on my ass as he did. The twin sensations of pleasure and subtle stinging became so much I thought I would black out.
With every strike and thrust, I melted into the mattress until every fiber in my body tightened, and I screamed so loudly in release that my throat grew hoarse. My ass cheeks were still pulsing and throbbing when Maître gripped my hips and pounded into me three more times before he growled out his release. His grip slid to the spreader bar at my hands as he lay over me, his full body draping over me like a blanket. In the darkness, I lay spent and so sated I feared I would never be able to move again.
Maître breathed hard. I felt his abdominal muscles against my back and never wanted to leave this room. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.” Maître huffed out a laugh. The beautiful sound of his humor curled around me, holding me close. Letting go of the bar, he moved down my body. Next I felt his hands rubbing my ass cheeks, massaging the skin. I groaned. His soothing touch felt like heaven.
I sank into the mattress, but eventually Maître moved off me. When he returned, he untied my hands and ankles from the spreader bars, placing them back on the wall behind us. He rolled me onto his chest, wrapping his arms around me. Out of everything, this had startled me the most tonight.
“You did well,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. I frowned at the fluttering feeling shifting beneath my sternum again. I hadn’t expected the closeness, the softness.
“I’m boneless,” I said, seeking warmth from the muscled arms that lay around me.
“Then it has been a successful night.”
Several seconds ticked by, “Ave Maria” serenating us through the speakers. I melted against his warm skin. “You’re holding me,” I said, feeling completely spend and…safe. He made me feel warm and safe. “I’m not complaining.”
Maître laughed, and I felt the comforting rumble against my cheek, lying on his pec. “This, mon petit chaton, is aftercare.”
“Like you get after an operation?”
Maître’s hand moved up and down my back. It was hypnotic. “When a siren has been fucked, or punished, or both, their Maître cares for them, makes them feel safe, as you said.”
“Mm,” I murmured, feeling sleepy. I must have fallen asleep, as Maître woke me up peppering kisses along my spine. I blinked away my slumber, the bed coming into a hazy view under my veil.
“It’s time to go,” Maître said, and I sat up. I ached everywhere, but I wouldn’t complain. It was a delicious kind of ache.
“Every weekend,” he said, kissing the back of my hand like a true gentleman. “You will come to me. Friday and Saturday nights. No going to the main floor. You are mine and mine alone.” Exhilaration took me in its hold. Maître wanted me. Wanted me only for himself. “Do you want that?”