Page 40 of Seth’s Doll

But as primal as I’ve gone in the last few minutes, I remain zeroed-in on my submissive’s every behavior and her safety. Her mind may have given over completely to her pleasure, but I know she shouldn’t remain bound this way for much longer, or her joints will ache for days. And I’d rather use up her pain tolerance in much more adventurous ways during that time.

As I keep up my thrusts to the tune of her sweet nothings, I easily release the Velcro around her thighs, hearing her groan of relief as her legs come down to frame my hips. I lean forward and brace myself on one arm, still fucking into her as I reach and release the spring hook clipped to her cuffs. And then I put both elbows to the table to encircle each of her shoulders with one of my hands, squeezing and massaging them for a minute before taking hold of her linked wrists, pulling them with me as I stand back up.

The contrast between the black leather cuffs and the baby-pink thigh-high socks makes too debaucherous a picture to ruin by freeing her completely, so they remain in their bindings as I take hold of her thighs, gripping her right where they meet her hips.

“Get ready, little doll. I’m about to test just how much my mindless fuck toy can take before danger of damaging Pleasure Sleeve 2 is detected,” I quip, hearing a sound escape her that’s between a giggle and a nervous “eep.” And that’s the last thing I say before I tighten my grip and use it as leverage to start giving her thrusts she’s never felt before.

I don’t jackhammer into her with abandon like some tool who relies merely on his size instead of learning how to use it to really make a woman feel good. Each surge forward is done with purpose, coming to a stop with a collision of our sexes that reverberates pleasure throughout both our systems, before I steal my cock from her needy cunt, then do it all over again. I get rougher and rougher with every stroke until I notice a hum filling the room, and it’s not until my lungs are painfully empty that I realize the sound was a growl coming from deep within my chest.

Yet again, she’s so intoxicating I lost track of my own body and keeping it under rigid control. The primal part of me is the strongest it’s ever been, my natural instincts wanting to take over our lovemaking, but it’s my responsibility to keep my head on straight enough she won’t get hurt, so I fight it back.

Until I look up from where my cock slides in and out of her now dark-red cunt and meet the pretty eyes filled with nothing but trust and love, and my little sub whispers, “Let go, Master.”

CHAPTER 21

Twyla

“What?” he growls, his hips faltering for only a single thrust before he returns to his precise pace.

I try to give him a reassuring smile, but the pleasure is too all-consuming to be able to focus on the muscles of my face. “Let go. Please, Seven. I want you to let loose on me.”

He shakes his head, his sweat slinging and landing across my body. “No way, little toy. I don’t want to break you.”

My pussy clenches around his girth at the name he’s called me tonight, and I hope it sticks around even after we’re done with this sex doll game. “You won’t, Master,” I breathe, groaning as he hits an extra sweet spot inside me. “Please. I know you won’t hurt me. You can’t.”

I don’t say it like a challenge. I say it as a reminder that he is incapable of allowing himself to cause me harm.

He shakes his head again, but this time, there’s less conviction in the gesture. He closes his eyes, seemingly trying to ignore me as his willpower falters. So I keep pressing.

“It’s what I want from my Dom. Please, Seven. I want to see you let go the way I did while you fucked my mouth.” My face flames as I say the last part, but it’s worth it, because it has the effect I was hoping for. His hips thrust forward with extra power behind them. But I know he’s got so much more he’s holding back. I’ve always sensed it beneath the surface, and I don’t want to be the reason he can’t be himself and just let it out.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he tells me, his voice going cold as he stares into my eyes with his beautiful hazel ones.

My nipples harden to a painful degree, finding the sadistic part of him he locked away from me so freaking sexy each time I catch a glimpse of it.

“I do,” I assure him. “Please. It’s what I want. Let go and show me. Let me be brave for my Master.”

And that’s apparently the right combination of words to unlock his cage. Because with a growl that’s not only sexy but scary in its ferocity, Seven rips himself away from me, takes hold of my hips, and flips me in one easy move. I hit the padded table with an “oof” as I land on my stomach, and before I can spread my legs and prepare to take him from behind, his knees clamp them shut. My feet don’t reach the floor, since the table is set to be the right height for his long legs, so I have no leverage in any direction. My arms are trapped beneath me, still bound at the wrists, but the table is so cushioned it doesn’t hurt. I’m just completely immobilized.

And at the mercy of my Dom I just begged to go feral on my ass.

The feel of his long, thick, and extremely hard erection entering me this way—with my legs pressed together, my hips at the exact height he needs—takes my breath away. I’ve never felt so full, not even when he had the whole damn palm of his hand in my vagina a while ago. The sight had been grotesque to my own eyes, but the way he was looking at the act, like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, combined with the magical way he moved his fingers inside me, I found myself incapable of caring how it appeared to me, especially as my eyes rolled back and I couldn’t see it anymore. And the orgasms it produced were unlike any I’ve ever felt before.

If the ease in which he slipped his cock inside me afterward was anything to go by, it had made me rather slippery, and I feel my face heat even now from getting so wet.

At least he seemed to like the little bit of extra slickness I produced.

Now though, I’m grateful for every milliliter of lubrication between us, because his dick feels like it’s doubled in length and girth at this angle. He goes slow at first, making sure he’s completely coated, even as his hands suddenly grip my ass roughly, his fingertips digging in to my cheeks so hard I know they’ll leave little bruises. And for some reason, the thought excites me.

My sister and friends have always been so proud, showing off the various marks left on their flesh after scenes with their husbands. But Seven has always been so careful in the way he handles me, the way he’s never forceful enough to leave more than a little red mark that disappears quickly, no evidence left of it by the time we’re dressed again. I was never jealous of their “souvenirs.” I honestly didn’t get why they’d want to be struck or grabbed hard enough to bruise or even bleed.

But now…

I don’t know what flipped the switch inside me…

But I get it.

And I want it.

---