Page 61 of Capricorn

“Who owns you right now?”

“You do, sir.” As much as I despise that fact, it’s undeniable. There’s a hierarchy in this room, and he’s on top.

“And what about your orgasms? Are they mine or yours?”

“Yours, sir.”

“And your pain. Is that mine as well?”

“Y-yes…sir.”

Though my mouth stutters the answer he wants, I hand him over to the murderess in my mind. I’m so caught up in imagining his slow, tortured death that I don’t realize he’s releasing me from the bench.

He cradles me in his arms, every part of me bent to his will, and carries me into the en suite bathroom. After turning on the water, he guides me to the marble counter and positions me in front of the mirror.

“Look,” he says, angling a handheld mirror at my backside. “This is the color of your need. Isn’t it beautiful?”

I gulp at the sight. Beautiful isn’t the word I’d use, but it’s a testament to his mastery that he can etch such a brutal signature on my body and still leave me drenched. My skin glows crimson, mottled with the imprints of his discipline. Each mark tells the story of my submission.

The massive jacuzzi tub fills beside us, steam curling through lavender-scented air. Oliver strips before lifting me into the water and sliding in behind me.

“Lean back,” he says, arranging me between his thighs.

I sink against him and let the warm water ease my screaming muscles. Bubbles cocoon us in silken clouds as his hands glide over my shoulders and breasts, soothing the ache while heightening a different kind. When his fingers dip into the suds and find the apex of my sex, I whimper, throat raw from screaming and crying.

“Please, sir.”

“Shhh.” His lips brush my temple. “Relax, close your eyes. I’m going to take care of you now.”

His fingers burrow into my folds, holding me at the pinnacle, coaxing pleasure from a place of transcendence. I arch into his touch, toes trapped in a continuous curl.

I want to let go, but after weeks of denial, followed by the excruciating hours of his dominance, I cling to the edge by a frayed thread that refuses to snap.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He hooks a finger into me, stroking a spot I can’t resist, while his thumb circles my clit. “You’ve earned this.”

When I finally shatter, it’s with a sob that comes from somewhere deep inside. The release crashes into me like a soul-shaking exorcism. Oliver embraces me through it, murmuring praises.

The relief is overwhelming, devastating, and…

Beautiful.

Just like the scarlet hue of my ass.

I’m still trembling when he lifts me from the water and wraps me in a plush towel. He carries me to the massive bed at the center of his sanctum, each step lulling what’s left of my nerves.

The sheets welcome my fevered skin, cool as silk on a winter day. Sleep tugs at me, promising the kind of deep rest that’s eluded me since my world slid off its axis. Even as he splays my thighs, I’m ready to let it pull me under.

But Oliver has other plans.

The vibrator hums to life against my sensitive flesh, and I gasp, trying to squirm away.

“Please, I can’t?—“

“Who’s in control?” he asks, one hand pinning my hipbone to the bed. His lids hang low, dark eyes smoldering with command.

“You are, sir.”

“And if I want to give you ten more orgasms, what will you do about it?”

---