Page 60 of Capricorn

I should have never surrendered. Silence is agony, forced on me by a large ball gag stretching my lips. Like the wall, the bench welcomes my body in luxurious leather, robbing me of all mobility. Though my wrists are no longer bound behind my head, they’re tied together in front of me. The cuffs on my ankles remain.

Oliver has me bent over, feet planted wide and fixed to the floor. The position tilts my hips above my shoulders, sending too much pressure to my battered breasts.

Now it’s my ass that burns while the rest of me strains from the vibrator secured between my thighs.

Anytime I get too close, his thick paddle finds its mark.

It’s a dance between purgatory and nirvana, of which Oliver Whitney is a ruthless virtuoso.

The tension builds faster than I can bear, and my lungs seize around a scream I can’t release.

Crack!

Pain flares across my backside as another blow lands.

Then another.

Five in total, each more savage than the last.

The sting spreads in a blaze of red that drags me from the edge. Before the ache fades, he dials the instrument of my destruction higher, and I grind against it, chasing a climax he won’t grant.

Sweat beads along my spine.

My heart kicks at my ribs.

Heat swells, ready to boil over.

No, no, no.

I lunge for it anyway, bracing for the inevitable fallout.

Crack!

A fresh set of strikes cut me off from the tipping point. My legs tremble as the impact throttles my muffled groans, even as pleasure carves itself from pain.

He alternates between the two until I can’t tell which is which.

And that’s how this next phase goes.

Torment versus rapture.

Frustration versus arousal.

A crescendo I never reach.

And a fiery descent that won’t extinguish the flames of my desire.

Oliver pushes me to the brink again and again, only to yank me back with another rapid succession of blows. I want to plead for mercy, but my silence holds, locked behind the gag and the last fragments of pride I haven’t let him take.

I’ve lost all sense of time.

Only sensation remains.

I’m beyond exhausted, every nerve lit, tears and saliva slipping from my face. Fear begins to creep into my thoughts, and I’m wondering how much more I can take—how much more he’ll make me take—when he suddenly removes the gag.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Your body knows how to obey.”

“Please, sir.” The entreaty scrapes out through clenched teeth. “No more.”

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