Page 90 of Deviant

I scramble across the Persian rug, my hands and knees protesting at the movement, but my head telling me that nothing matters beyond Master’s pleasure right now. That if I had to cross a dessert like this, if I had to clamber over broken glass, barbed wire even to make him happy, then I would.

As I crawl into his lap he sits back, glaring at me like he’s expecting defiance.

I place my thighs either side, my hand taking hold of his cock to position him correctly and then I sink down, burying him to the hilt.

He’s taken my body so many times. He’s brutalised every inch of me. And yet right now, this, this moment feels the complete antithesis of that. Like I somehow have a modicum of control.

“Fuck.”

I don’t know who says it. I don’t know if it’s him or me, but it’s like an explosion goes off. I shut my eyes, I hold myself still for a moment because it feels like I might just come right this second and I don’t want that.

His breath sounds ragged, his body is so tense. I can see all the scars that cover his chest. Scars that I once despised as much as the rest of him.

It’s hard to do it with how I’m sat, but I lower my mouth, kissing his skin, worshipping his body while I try to get some sort of control over my own.

He grabs my hands, gripping them in one of his behind my back, forcing my body to right arch over and bear my breasts, andit renders me almost defenceless. He once more has total control over me, but that one action causes my brain to short circuit.

I stop thinking.

I stop caring.

It’s like he’s Pavlov’d me. I’m a dog salivating at the sound of a bell. And I need more. I have to have more.

I start raising my hips, I start riding him just as he wants. He groans, he grunts. He’s sat there like a king and I’m his whore, his perfect little slave. My existence is for one purpose, my every breath is only permitted if he allows it.

I stare back at him, no longer seeing a monster, but seeingmymonster. Seeing my beginning and my ending. Seeing my reason for life. My reason for everything.

Does he know? Can he tell?

Perhaps he can, perhaps he can see the fundamental change in me, but he’s not changing one bit. He’s just the same ruthless man I’ve endured since the very beginning.

Only, I want him to change, I want him to smile at me, I want him to cup my face and show some sort of affection. Some love.

I moan out, a sound of sorrow, a sound of desperation. I’m so close to coming and yet I don’t feel like he’s there. Will he beat me if I come before he does? Or will he see that as another sign of my submission? That he hasn’t had to force me this time, that I’ve done it willingly.

His spare hand wraps around my waist. For a second, I’m convinced I’ve imagined it, but I can feel the way his fingers are digging into my skin, the way he’s leaving bruises. He’s as brutal with this as he is with everything else and yet my body rejoices all the same.

“Come, pet,” he orders.

“Come with me.” I say before I can think, before I can consider the consequences of such a request.

If he reacts in any way to that plea, it doesn’t show on his face, he simply stays there, letting me fuck him, letting me writhe and moan against his hard, unrelenting presence.

But when I come, when that euphoria hits me, I know it’s not just me, I can feel it, I can feel his cock pouring inside me, and what’s more I can hear the way he’s growling, the way he’s snarling as his hands dig even harder into me before he’s releasing his grip as if he too is exhausted from what we’ve just done.

As his hands release mine, I slump into his chest.

It’s a step too far.

I know that.

I know right now I should be retreating, not seeking more. He doesn’t give more. He doesn’t give at all. And yet I don’t want to lose this contact. I need it, I need his skin against mine, I need to hear his heartbeat, I need to smell his sweat as it mingles with mine.

I shut my eyes, pretending this is something different, pretending that we’re not Master and pet, captor and slave, but equals. That he wants me the way I want him, that he has actual feelings for me beyond the need to dominate and destroy.

His hand wraps around my back, sneaking up my spine and coming up to cup my neck in a vice like grip.

I don’t dare to move.

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