Page 47 of Make Me Scream

When Lane pulls out, I dangle in place, insensate to anything but the brilliant afterglow.

“How was that, Gwen?” he asks after a time. Maybe a minute, maybe twenty.

“Amazing,” I moan, not wanting to lose the feeling of my hole gripping his member. He steps around me, holding his wet staff in front of my face.

“You want more?”

“Please!”

Lane sighs.

“Not today. No one likes art to be too self-indulgent. A good artist knows when to stop.”

No. He can’t!

“But you… you didn’t…”

“That’s true,” Lane says, stroking his cock. “But I can wait. This was about teaching you humility, and I think this was a good start.”

Fuck.

Whining won’t help, so I keep my mouth shut as Lane lets me out of my bonds. When he uncuffs my wrists, I nearly collapse — I’ve been holding the same position so long I can barely move. Lane keeps me from falling, collecting me in his muscular arms. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m covered in sweat, and he lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all.

I let him carry my limp body to wherever he’s going — I have no idea. We go up a flight of stairs, then enter some kind of basic living space. There’s a queen-sized mattress on the ground, covered in only a plain blue sheet, with two thin pillows. A couple shirts and pairs of khakis hang from a clothes rack in the corner. There’s one small desk with nothing on its surface. Most notably, the far wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a stage.

“This was a… news station?” I ask.

“We’re in the control room,” he says, setting me down on the mattress. “I turned it into a place to rest if I work late and don’t want to go home. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. That was an intense session.”

Laughing, I turn over. My ass still stings from the paddling. I can’t even fathom trying to move my arms or legs.

“It sounds like you enjoyed this lesson,” he says, lying down next to me. He strokes my hair, earning a soft sigh from me.

“It was incredible, sir.”

“Yes, it was. Were you ever scared?”

“No, not really.”

The whole day feels like a blur now, but fear stays with a person. Even a conquered fear leaves its mark.

“You never asked me to stop what I was doing. Did you want to, at any point? Be honest.”

“No, sir. I trusted you.”

“That’s good. Trust is absolutely essential,” he says, climbing around so he can face me. “We’re going to have secrets to keep. I don’t have to tell you what happens if they get out. It’s important we communicate very clearly.”

“I totally agree, sir.”

“Good. You stood up to this challenge remarkably well, Gwen. Too well. I think I’m going to have to push you harder, because you still have a lot to learn.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You’re sure? You remember what I said when we started this thing?”

There is no doubt in my mind that if Lane Porter, the man behind Alistair Rat, wants to shock and disturb me, he will. The reward of becoming a better artist started this arrangement, but now I want more. One orgasm isn’t nearly enough. If we could do this again every day, I would never want to leave his studio.

“Yes, Professor Porter, I’m sure.”

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