Laura

 

 

 

I'm not alone this time. His calm breath greets me when I open my eyes. He's holding me in a soft embrace, spooning me from behind, his warm breath tickling my neck.

Have I fallen asleep? Again?

I blink a few times, trying to gather my bearings. My memory is foggy. The last thing I remember clearly is succumbing to that overwhelming climax he forced out of me, the way I cried and moaned, too dizzy to maintain my composure. He caught me before I fell to the floor, and then he carried me to the bed, curling up next to me while I wept myself to sleep. I can feel the dried-up tears crusty on my cheeks, and I'm still overcome by exhaustion. Enduring the pain, the lust, the devastatingly beautiful orgasm – all of it has taken a toll on me.

Something broke in me. I feel as if he destroyed something within me, only to immediately rebuild it with something new, something stronger, a trait that has always been inside me but never saw the light of day until now.

As hard as it is to grasp, I feel like I've been reborn. I let go of something that had been restraining me from becoming who I truly am into the person I'm supposed to be. There's relief and a new sense of strength. What he did to me was horrifying, a pain so dire that I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it.

But I did. I made it through, and I was rewarded with so much more than I ever thought possible.

And I have him to thank for that. Ryan, my master. The man who's holding me in his strong arms right now, dozing calmly.

Is he really sleeping? The way he breathes suggests he is. I try to stretch, just a little as to not wake him up, but he moves nonetheless, mumbling something unintelligible as his arms tighten around me, his hands squeezing my tits.

"Mine," he whispers, pulling me closer.

He squeezes me so hard that it steals my breath. My sore skin presses against his hard body, and I'm painfully reminded of the harsh caning earlier.

And the orgasm.

I practically came while he was using the cane on me. The pain was stronger than anything he had inflicted on me before, but so was the mind-numbing bliss when it ended. He said he would make me love the cane, and he did. Even though I'd still argue that love may be too strong a word to describe my relationship with that devious stick.

My stomach is growling, and I hastily press my hand on it, as if trying to hush it. From behind, I can hear him chuckle and feel his body shaking against mine as he laughs.

"Orgasms make me hungry," I quote him.

"I can tell," he replies in a soft voice.

He squeezes me again, tickling me with a kiss on my neck. I pull up my shoulders and try to fend him off, but those efforts are futile. He decides I'm allowed to move freely, and instead of letting me go, he digs his teeth into my exposed neck, biting and sucking on my skin until I squeal in a mixture of amusement and pain.

"Master, that hurts!" I protest, but my words are accompanied by a giggle.

"Good," he says after letting go of me. "I want to leave as many marks as possible on my doll."

His embrace loosens, allowing me to turn around to face him. The first thing I notice are his incredible eyes. They are only half open, still heavy with weariness, but they are laced with something that could be mistaken for love.

Of course, that can't be. He can't love me. That's not what this is about.

I quickly cast the thought aside. My hazy brain shouldn't allow for such a ludicrous idea.

The second thing I notice is the stubble outlining his strong jaw. It‘s definitely more prominent and darker than I've ever seen on his otherwise clean-shaven face.

It‘s also the only indication of time available to me. It must be time for me to leave soon.

"How are you feeling?" he asks in a dreamy tone.

"Good," I reply. "Very good, actually."

"Was it too much?"

I shake my head, and a small grin eases onto my face. "No, master. It was perfect."

"I was very strict with you, but you earned it," he says, his index finger stroking across the side of my face. "You did great, doll. I'm very proud of you."

"Thank you, master."

I hesitate for a moment. I want to share my thoughts with him, but suddenly I feel shy about it. He might think I'm an idiot for feeling the way I feel. It sounds silly in my head, and it doesn't sound a lot better when I finally summon the courage to speak.

"I feel different," I utter, biting my lower lip as if to stop myself from saying anything more.

"Different how?"

"Hard to say," I murmur. "New, somehow. Like I've grown? Or changed? Something is different. I feel like something broke inside of me, and then it was put back together, but with like... stronger glue?"

I cast him a coy look and can't help but try to cover the implication of my words with a laugh.

"I'm sorry, you must think I'm crazy."

I try to lower my eyes away from his fixated stare, but he stops me by placing his finger beneath my chin.

"No," he says, his gaze serious as he looks at me. "I don't think you're crazy. I understand what you're saying."

"You do?"

He nods.

"You went through something very challenging, confusing, new. It was tough, and it took a lot out of you," he says. "I'm sure it was overwhelming. I was there, I saw you experience it. I was the one who made it happen, doll. You're not crazy. You just learned something new about yourself."

I smile at him as his words wash over me with a comforting warmth. I've never felt so understood by anyone before. This man can see right through me. He likes whatever it is that he sees hidden behind the walls I’ve built up, the walls no one has ever been able to break down before. He knows me, and he understands me.

How am I ever going to go back to my old life? If anything, he's made it even harder now.

"I wish I could stay," I breathe, choking as I suppress the tears that threaten to emerge at the memory of our arrangement.

He creases his eyebrows, casting me a dark look, but he doesn't say a word. No warning, no reminder of never mentioning the reality of our situation.

"How long do we have left?" I ask, realizing that the question is a breach of our agreement.

He lets go of me in an instant, rolling to the other side and getting off the bed in a hurry. My heart sinks as I watch him walk to the door in wide, angry steps.

"Master, I'm sorry!" I cry out, bobbing up from the bed. "I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't have-"

I don’t get to finish. I'm interrupted by the harsh sound of the door slamming shut behind him.