Page 21 of Entangled Mafia Princess

When she does, I strike her crotch with the flogger. With her jeans protecting the area, she barely yelps. I land the flogger between her legs several times.

“Mmmmm,” she murmurs.

I spank her pussy a few more times before, standing behind her, I place her in a chokehold using the handle of the flogger.

“I assume you know that you have to ask permission to come,” I state.

“Yes, Sir.”

I pull the flogger tighter against her till she starts to squirm, pushing off on her heels in a bid to keep the handle from crushing her neck. I let her go. She coughs and gasps in air.

Wordlessly, I wait for her response. When she’s caught her breath, she looks at me with a little bit of bewilderment but also some excitement.

“Are you wetter now?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“I want to be able to see it through your jeans.”

“I can get real wet for you, Sir. It just takes a little while for the juices to get flowing. That’s where you come in.”

“You don’t need me. You’ve got this.” I tap her temple. At her frown, I say, “Don’t tell me princess is a dumb blonde.”

“I like action.”

“Did you know some women can make themselves orgasm with thought alone?”

“Lucky them. If I could do that, I probably wouldn’t need to be here.”

I acknowledge that ever since discovering BDSM for myself, it’s easier to get aroused. Just the sight of her with her arms pinioned behind her is enough to stir warmth in my groin. I don’t need full frontal shots of naked women with oversized tits. A fully clothed woman in expert shibari is far more evocative.

“Give it a try,” I tell Casey.

“Give what a try?”

“Make yourself wet with thought.”

She pouts as if I’ve just told her to practice her math sets. “Don’t you want to flog my pussy some more?”

“Don’t you want to do as you’re told?” I scold.

At that, she purses her lips in resignation and closes her eyes. I watch her, amused that something as simple as using her imagination could bother her. If I were training her, I’d have her do a lot more mental exercises. It might be more painful for her than bastinado.

After a minute or so, she peeks at me, probably hoping for a sign that she can come.

Prying her knees further apart, I look at her crotch. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s not working for me.”

“Try harder.”

With a sigh, she closes her eyes again.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“I’m thinking how in a minute you’ll show me you’re a man of action, not just talk—or thought.”

I slap her sharply across the cheek. She stares at me wide-eyed with a flash of how-dare-you indignation. She really is a princess.

---