Page 23 of Davoren
The truth was that I was desperately, achingly aroused. The truth was that calling him Daddy had unlocked something in me I hadn't known existed. The truth was that I wanted more—more discipline, more praise, more of his controlled attention that made me feel simultaneously small and precious.
When he finally set the paddle aside, I nearly sobbed at the loss. My backside throbbed with heat, each pulse sending freshwaves of arousal through me. I stayed bent over the bench, trembling, waiting for whatever came next.
"You did perfectly," he said, and his hands were gentle as he helped me stand. The change in position made me gasp—my punished flesh protesting and singing simultaneously. "Now we move to the next part of your lesson."
When he pulled me fully upright, the movement sent fresh fire across my punished skin, making me gasp and sway against him. His arm came around my waist, steadying me, and that simple protective gesture somehow undid me more than the paddle had. Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction—not just at my submission, but at how beautifully I'd taken the discipline, how my body had transformed pain into need.
"We're not finished yet, little one. Your trespass requires a more thorough lesson."
He guided me across the room with gentle but inexorable pressure, past the bench that still held the impression of my body, toward the wall where the restraints waited. My legs trembled with each step, hyperaware of how the movement made my punished flesh ache and sing simultaneously. The wetness between my thighs had become impossible to ignore, and I knew he could smell my arousal—his dragon senses would miss nothing.
"Here," he said, positioning me facing the wall. The volcanic glass surface reflected my image back in fragments—wild hair, dilated pupils, the collar dark against my throat, golden lines glowing like embedded fire across my skin. I looked thoroughly debauched already, and we'd barely begun.
He reached up to select the chains I'd touched earlier, the ones that looked like captured flame. This close, I could see they weren't metal at all but something else, something that existed in the space between solid and energy. They were warm to thetouch when he brought them to my wrists, not burning but present, alive in a way that made my mark pulse in recognition.
"Arms up," he commanded, and my body obeyed before my mind could process the instruction. He drew my arms high above my head, positioning my wrists just so before the chains engaged. They wrapped around my wrists like living things, adjusting their grip to be secure but not painful, spreading my arms wide enough that my muscles stretched pleasantly.
The position left me completely exposed—my breasts lifted by the angle of my arms, my legs necessarily spread for balance, every inch of my transformed skin on display. The vulnerability of it should have terrified me. Instead, my body sang with anticipation, the golden lines tracing patterns that seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.
"Perfect," Davoren said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. And that's when I truly noticed—he was still fully clothed. His dark shirt remained perfectly buttoned, his pants showing no sign of our activities. The contrast between his composition and my naked, restrained state made me quake.
He stood there for a long moment, just watching me, and I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. Through the bond, his arousal thrummed against mine, but underneath it ran that iron control, that ancient patience that could wait millennia for what it wanted. He was going to take his time with me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
"Do you know what you need, little one?" he asked, moving to the table of implements with that predatory grace. "Your body knows, even if your mind hasn't accepted it yet. You need to be brought to the edge of pleasure and held there, suspended between want and satisfaction, until you learn that your release belongs to me."
My breath caught as he selected the bottle of oil I'd noticed earlier. When he uncapped it, the fragrance filled theair like a physical presence—jasmine sweet and heavy, mixed with something musky and wild that bypassed rational thought entirely. My core clenched with need, and I pulled involuntarily against the chains, though they held me perfectly.
"This oil is special," he said conversationally, pouring some into his palm. The liquid gleamed gold in the chamber's light, seeming to move with its own inner fire. "Pressed from flowers that only bloom in dragon fire, mixed with oils that enhance every sensation. Your new body will be especially responsive to it."
He stepped close, close enough that I could feel his heat but not quite touching, and raised his oil-slicked hand. The first contact was light—just his fingertips trailing along my collarbone, following the golden lines there. But even that gentle touch sent lightning through every nerve, the oil making my skin hypersensitive, every point of contact singing.
"So responsive," he murmured, his fingers trailing lower, circling my breast but not quite touching my nipple. The anticipation was agony, my back arching as much as the restraints allowed, trying to press into his touch. "The transformation made you exquisitely sensitive, didn't it? Every nerve ending rebuilt to experience pleasure more intensely."
When his thumb finally brushed across my nipple, I cried out at the sensation. The oil made everything more—more intense, more immediate, more overwhelming. He worked with methodical precision, one hand attending to my breast while the other traced patterns on my stomach, always moving lower but never quite reaching where I needed him most.
"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for.
More? Less? Everything? Nothing?
"Patience," he chided gently, but his hand finally moved between my thighs, fingers sliding through the wetness there with devastating accuracy. The first touch to my clitoris mademy vision white out for a moment, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. "There we are. So wet for me already. Your body knows exactly what it needs, doesn't it?"
His fingers worked with the same precision he'd brought to everything else, building a rhythm that had me pulling against the chains, hips moving desperately to meet his touch. The oil made everything slick and hot, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me that the bond amplified and reflected back. I could feel his arousal building with mine, his satisfaction at my responses, his determination to push me exactly where he wanted me to go.
The pressure built with impossible speed, my transformed body far more responsive than my human form had ever been. Every nerve ending seemed connected directly to my core, every brush of his fingers sending me higher. My breathing came in gasps, my thighs trembling, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in my belly.
"That's it," he encouraged, his free hand coming up to stroke my hair, a gesture so tender in contrast to what his other hand was doing that it nearly undid me completely. "Let yourself feel it. Let the pleasure build. You're so close, aren't you? So ready to shatter for me."
I was. I was so close I could taste it, that perfect edge where one more stroke would send me over. My entire body tensed, ready for that release, desperate for it—
And then he stopped.
His hand withdrew completely, leaving me empty and aching and right on the precipice with nowhere to fall. The denial hit like a physical blow, making me cry out in frustration, pulling hard against the chains that held me perfectly in place.
"No, please, I was so close—"
"I know," he said, stepping back to observe my frustration with what I could feel through the bond was deep satisfaction. "That'sthe point, little one. Your pleasure belongs to me now. I decide when you fall,ifyou fall."
The absence of his touch was agony. My body throbbed with need, every nerve ending screaming for the release he'd denied me. I pulled uselessly against the chains, my hips moving desperately, seeking friction that wasn't there.
