Page 81 of Carnal

However, my plan's short-lived. I knew Tristano was trying to go directly to what we discussed on the plane. I tried to hold off, but I got so wet from watching him wear the cock cage while I flogged him that it felt impossible. Plus, the thought of his tongue on my pussy is driving me insane. It's been almost a week since he's done it, and every night I obsessed about it while in bed, smelling the faint residual of his cologne on my pillows.

I may not have flogged him for hours, but right now, he's acting like a squirrel, unable to focus on any one part of my body. I've seen it before, and satisfaction grows within me. He's two steps from submitting, so I dig deep and slide as close to his face as possible. I hold his head an inch from my pussy, asking, "What will it be? Come or eat me?"

Desperation lines his voice. He sniffs hard, grinds his molars, then replies, "Your pussy."

I lean toward his face. "So let me make this clear. I'm giving you a choice to remove the cock cage, but you'd rather keep it on and eat me? Is that correct?"

He glances at my throbbing clit, licks his lips, then nods. "Yes."

"Yes, who?"

He swallows hard. "Yes, Mistress."

Tristano Marino is my sub.

I pat him on the head then smile. "Then let's get on with it, shall we?"

He lunges his mouth toward me, but I retreat to the mattress, ordering, "Whoa! Stay in position!"

Confusion and frustration flood his expression, turning into a scowl.

I get off the bed and repeat, "Get in position or state your safe phrase."

His shoulders tense. He stretches his arms as far as possible and grips the bedding.

Armed with a new resolve to break him, I pick up the flogger and return to my soft slaps. I create an X pattern, approving of the red marks growing brighter on his back and ass cheeks. I start with ten, rub his skin with my palm, then tickle his balls while rubbing my nipples on his back. After, I repeat the pattern but increase the number of slaps each time by five.

Every now and then, I stand to his side and turn his head. "Lick me," I order.

He always groans, swiping his tongue on my clit like a dog at the water bowl. And as much as I want to have him keep going, I pull away.

For over an hour, he takes it, not flinching during the flogging. Yet, I don't miss his knuckles turning white or the way his shoulders stay taut. And I have to give him credit. Very few men I've dominated get as far as he has without protesting.

I allow him to lick me again, but this time, when I pull back, he quickly wraps his arm around my hips, tugging me back to him.

"Let go, sub!" I demand.

"Let me finish," he pleads.

My hand flies to his balls. I cup them and squeeze. I grab his hair and position his face toward the ceiling. A deep groan flies out of him, and more sweat pops out on his skin.

"You have a safe phrase," I remind him.

"Please, Pina," he mumbles, a wild and crazed look filling his orbs.

"Please, who?"

"Mistress."

"And what do you want, sub? Tell me."

He takes several shallow breaths.

I grab the flogger and slap his back.

"No more!" he says.

Adrenaline flows through me. Tristano Marino, on his knees, begging me and about to tap out, is like a dream I never knew I had. It's like everyone I've ever dominated has been a practice session leading up to this moment. And something about it is stunningly beautiful to me. I reply, "I don't understand what that means. Use your safe phrase if you need to."

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