Page 23 of Entangled Mafia Princess

“I could suck you off real good, Sir.”

“Already plan on having you do that.”

“I’d let you into my ass.”

“Better. Would you suck off five cocks for me?”

My pussy throbs. “Yes.”

“Would you go down on Carmen?”

I bristle. I don’t want that at all, but I want to please my Dom. I want his hand on my pussy, flesh to flesh.

“I’d do it for you, Sir,” I answer, hoping he won’t actually make me do it.

He undoes the button of my jeans and slowly pulls the zipper down. I practically pant from excitement as I watch his fingers disappear into my jeans and wish I had worn a looser pair, but I sigh with contentment when he nestles his fingers between my jeans and my lace underwear. Lightly, he strokes my clit through the lace. I moan softly, remaining as still as possible, fearing that any movement might make him stop. Wetness gushes into my panties. He hasn’t even done that much to me yet, but it’s the prospect of what he can do, all that potential present in his tone, his controlled touch, his calm confidence that’s driving me crazy.

When he pulls his hand from my pants, I whimper, wishing he would continue caressing me but excited to see what he will do next. He pushes my face down into the bench again before getting up, then pulls me to the end of the bench till my ass rounds the edge. Grabbing another cord of rope, he binds my neck to the bench. With my face turned toward the club, I can see that most of the viewers are watching me. He pulls my jeans down to my thighs, revealing my underwear and a small tattoo in the shape of handcuffs at the top of my right ass cheek.

“Fancy panties for a fancy princess,” he comments before baring my rump. He runs his thumb over my tattoo. “How long have you had this?”

“Got it on my birthday last year.”

Dropping his hand, he gives one cheek a swat, then spanks the other several times. I purr with satisfaction. Picking up the flogger, he warms up my backside.

“Your ass gets red fast,” he notes.

I wiggle it for him.

He smirks before landing the tails sharply against a buttock. This time it has more sting. After a few more wallops, he switches to a crop.

“Which impact toy do you like the most?” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” I answer truthfully.

“Let’s find your favorite tonight. Since you turned twenty-one, we’ll do twenty-one strikes per instrument. You’ll do the counting.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He whips the crop across an ass cheek, the strike sharper than the flogger.

“One,” I count.

The second slap is even sharper, causing me to jump, except that I am bound to the bench. My arms, still tied behind my back, are getting a little sore.

“Two.”

He takes his time, striking only when the sting from the previous blow has begun to fade. As a result, my ass has no relief from the burn, but I take it in stride, the nectar of my desire continuing to flow. I savor each and every time the crop connects with my ass. It hurts, but I pride myself on having a high pain threshold. After he’s delivered twenty-one with the crop, he reaches between my legs, lightly grazing my moist folds. I wait for him to touch me more significantly, like rub my clit or sink his fingers into my pussy, but he only tugs on my labia. I feel only the slightest sensation against my clit.

“You like the crop?” he asks as he continues to feel me up without touching my clit.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ready to try something else?”

“Yes, Sir.”

To my dismay, he stands up. That’s all the foreplay I’m going to get before the next round of pain?

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