The Saint

“I want that with you, forever,” she said.

“I don’t need to make love to you to want to be bonded to you forever. I have felt that connection since the day we met.”

She rose off the floor and Søren took her into his arms. She lay across his lap, her head on his chest, his arms around her.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said. “Always. I want you to be proud that you own me, sir.”

Søren tilted her chin up and kissed her.

“I already am proud to own you, Little One. As this proves.” He touched the collar on her neck.

“Why am I wearing this? It doesn’t seem like you.”

“It’s a symbol,” he said. “A symbol others in our world will understand. You belong to me. This is a visual reminder of that.”

“I love belonging to you.”

“And this makes it official.” He kissed her on the soft skin under her collar. “So we should celebrate it.”

“Celebrate? How?”

“Like this …” Søren kissed her and as he did, he pushed her onto her back, his hand lightly on her throat, his mouth devouring her lips. A kiss from Søren alone could bring her body to life with need. He kissed her possessively, obsessively, as if staking a claim on her body every time their lips touched.

He pulled back and pushed her thighs open. He took her hand and put it between her legs. He waited, an expectant look on his face.

“You’re going to sit there and watch, sir?”

“I may lend a hand. If you’re good.”

“One question—am I doing this while you watch because it turns you on or because it’s humiliating?”

“They are one and the same to me.”

She took a deep breath and spread her thighs wider. If she had to put on a show, might as well make it a good one. And she knew Søren wanted her, so why not make his waiting for her hurt him as much as it hurt her?

With both hands between her legs, she opened her vagina and pushed one finger inside herself. For some reason doing this while Søren watched embarrassed her less than sitting at the table and eating dinner. It made perfect sense to be naked while doing something sexual. Being naked while having dinner felt awkward and embarrassing. Being naked and touching herself? Not a problem.

“Show-off,” Søren said as she caressed her wet inner lips.

She trailed her finger up to her clitoris and started to rub it. Closing her eyes, she sank into her fantasy world where she and Søren would need a telescope to see the lines they’d crossed so far behind them. He’d warned her he would have to hurt her before he could be aroused enough to f**k her. Fine. Good. She longed for the day she could be flogged and caned and treated like sexual property, like a body to be used by Søren and for Søren. She reminded herself that even though she would be the one having the orgasm, she did this for him, for his pleasure. It made it much less embarrassing to do things under orders. She had no choice.

Søren pushed a finger into her and found that soft spot an inch inside her that made her stomach tighten and her back melt into the sofa. He made tight circles inside her that left her groaning in the back of her throat.

Eleanor continued to rub her clitoris as Søren slipped a second finger inside her. As she started to pant, he began to thrust his fingers in and out of her slowly, scraping the front wall of her vagina with his fingertips. She felt everything as he moved inside her. Her toes curled and her thighs shivered. Her hips tightened and her back arched. Her stomach fluttered and her clitoris throbbed. Her chest heaved and her ni**les hardened.

“You can come whenever you like.”

“I don’t want to come, sir.”

“Why not?”

“So you’ll keep touching me.”

Søren softly laughed.

“Pick a number between one and five.”

“What am I picking?”

“I can’t tell you that. No, I can, but I won’t.”

“Then how do I know what to pick?”

“You won’t.”

“Then five.”

“I should have guessed. Come for me, Little One.”

She took a deep breath and focused on her own pleasure, on the thrumming of her clitoris against her fingers and the pressure building in her stomach. She rode the wave of pleasure to the top and crashed into it at full speed. Her inner muscles clenched around Søren’s fingers inside her and buried deep. As she panted, he pulled out of her and dragged her to him. “That was one,” he said.

“One what?” She collapsed against his chest, spent and sleepy.

“You picked five. One down, four to go.”

Her eyes flew wide-open.

“Five orgasms?”

He kissed the tip of her nose as he slid his hand down her stomach and between her legs again.

“Of course, next time I make you pick, you could be picking how many hours I’ll tease you before I let you come.” He gripped the back of her neck roughly; his tone grew forceful, dominating and cold. She loved it.

“You’re a sadist.”

“I am.”

“I’ll always pick the biggest number even if I don’t know what I’m picking,” she said, panting.

“And that, Little One, is why I love you.”

“I love you, too. Even if you do torture me and make me wait and beg for you, sir.”

“But will you always?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious and somber.