No, I’m not. I’m your good slave.
No, I’m not. I’m your good slave.Where did that come from? At what point had she started desiring his approval? Wanting to please him? Right from the beginning, it seemed.
He straddled her and brought his thumb and forefinger to one of her n*****s, pinching it. “When are you going to stop lying to me?”
God, would he ever let it go?
Her eyes slid sideways, away from his amethyst gaze.
Slap. His palm swatted the side of her breast. She arched and yanked against her binding.
Slap. “Do I need to s***k your breasts?” He slapped its twin.
“Oh! No…” She writhed beneath him, uselessly trying to twist away from him, to hide herself.
Despite the pain and what was worse—the fear at this new, untried form of punishment—moisture seeped onto her inner thigh. Her
