Master Zum (3 page)

He gently swiped the flannel over my face again, down my neck and across my collarbone. The heat in my cunt was almost gone—whatever he had put on it had worked wonders—and it was only my skin under the corset that was still uncomfortable. He stopped cleaning me, and the sound of the flannel slapping on the tile told me he’d thrown it down. Something tugged on my corset—Master Zum pulling on the red laces—and the tightness of the PVC eased, slowly peeling away from my skin to let a rush of cool air bathe me.

Bliss, absolute bliss.

I wondered if he stared at me now, spread-eagled as I was, or whether he had gone to select that new toy. But the mattress was still dipped beside me, and his scent was strong—near, he was so near, yet I wouldn’t be able to touch him if I tried. His weight shifted, the mattress springing back up, and he was gone, tap-tap-tapping away. Something rustled, a packet perhaps, then the unmistakable sound of him ripping it open using his teeth, taking out whatever was inside then discarding the wrapper. So it was brand-new, literally, never been used before.

It tinkled loudly as he placed it down, on the table, I imagined.

The whisper of his trousers, then the
shh-shh-shh
as he used the provided antibacterial wipes to clean the flogger or whatever he had used on me. There were discreet cameras in every room, put in place not just for customers’ safety but to ensure all instruments had been washed after use. Of course, when we left the room, an attendant would come in and take the used toys away to be cleaned properly, replacing them with new ones, but to clean them as best you could before that was one of the stipulations. If you didn’t, you were out, never allowed to return.

I breathed out, slightly relieved that he’d finished with that particular implement. Yet what was he about to use? What new-fangled thing had the powers that be in Marshall’s Cottage dreamt up now?

Whatever it was tinkled again, and I supposed he was holding it up, examining it. Still, I kept my eyes closed, refusing to disobey him—even if he had his back to me and wouldn’t have known. The point to this, to
us
, was trust, compliance.

“There’s something curiously barbaric about this,” he said.

Oh, God. What the hell is it?

“I see they’ve even put little rings halfway up the bedposts to secure it onto.” He chuckled. “And there are instructions. A leaflet. With a drawing, just in case we don’t quite get how to use it.”

That chuckle, along with the unknown, rumbled through me at a speed that had my body hair standing on end again. But in a good way, always a good way with Master Zum. I scrunched my eyes tighter—
don’t open them, don’t open them and spoil the surprise
—then relaxed my eyelids. In my head, I saw him looking down at the toy, at the instructions, a smile spreading, a glimmer of lust in his eyes. Lust for giving me pleasure-pain and gaining his satisfaction from administering it.

He moved, and the tinkle sounded again—a chain, most definitely that. Something scraped on one of the bedposts, the reverberation going through the mattress, buzzing on my arse. His footsteps once more, the tinkle, the reverberation on the other side this time. Was he at the foot of the bed? I cocked my head as though doing that would give me the answer.

“Quite a pincher. Yes, these are beauties.”

His information had been given that way on purpose, to keep me guessing, to make me disobey and open my eyes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being able to punish me for it—if I gave in to my urge.

“Can you hear that?” he asked.

All I heard was my breathing, a little ragged, and his, steady and sure.

“No, Sir.”

He did whatever he’d done before, and yes, I heard it. A snap. Like the crack of a palm against a cheek. But quieter.

“That time, sub?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what do you think it is?”

“I have no idea, Sir. I couldn’t begin to imagine. It sounds like…bubble wrap?”

He laughed, low and sexy. “If only it were that soft. No, it isn’t bubble wrap.”

“May I ask what it is, Sir?”

“You may, and have, asked. But I won’t be telling you. It’s time that you found out by other means.”

Chapter Three

I found out when my nipples were gripped by an unholy set of cold teeth that seemed to bite as though they had the intent to rip them off. The pain was indescribable, the kind that made my hips lift, my head swim and had me screaming. That scream hadn’t sounded loud, though, more like it had come from someone else in another room. Everything was muffled, as though I swam beneath water. Murky water at that. I couldn’t see anything beneath my closed eyelids except sludgy blobs reminiscent of hot wax in a lava lamp, swarming together to create one mass.

“That’s it, you scream it out, pet,” he said. “There’s more pain where that came from.”

I sucked in a breath and held it. My body went slack, flopped back to the mattress, and I knew if I tried to move now I wouldn’t be able to. The pain from the bite was easing, changing into a hearty, dull throb. The sensation spread through my breasts and, as had happened with my cunt when he’d struck it, they seemed to swell. I let the air out of my lungs and waited for my nipples to become accustomed. The throb receded as I concentrated on inhaling and exhaling.

Steady breaths. Listen to the sound of it in your ears
.

The nipple clamps moved, were tugged, and that infernal tinkling rippled through the air again. What, was the chain one that would join the clamps together, was that it? I relaxed a little—he’d used them before, and I’d well been able to cope with him yanking the chain so my nipples distended, drawn away from my body with each tug. Cold—metal, the chains?—touched the lower swells of my breasts for a second before they were lifted, jostling my tits, the clamps gnawing at my nipples with renewed ferocity.

I screamed again, arched my spine, then slumped back to the bed, panting.

“You have permission to speak, sub.”

“Oh, Sir. Jesus…fucking…Christ, Sir. These are vicious.”

“I can well imagine. Adorable little things, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I said, unable to deny it. “Adorable.”

And they were, as well as evil, spiteful.

My nipples rose, and I braced myself for more pain. Gritted my teeth. Clenched my arse cheeks together. Anything to make me concentrate on something else. One was pulled harder than the other, then harder still, so that the teeth bit more harshly as if reluctant to let go. Then they were pulled even more, lifted so far away that I wondered if my imagination was running riot. It felt as though my nipple was five times its usual length, stretched out, so taut that it might snap.

“There,” he said. “That’s a chain attached to one of those hooks I told you about.”

An immediate visual came to mind, of a long chain being an extension of my nipple, joining it to a bed post.

One? Oh, God, there’s another to go…

The other nipple was tugged, and at least this time I knew what was coming. There it was, the pull, the stretch, the jostle as he fitted the chain onto the hook. What the hell must I have looked like to whoever might have been watching on the security camera? Wrists and nipples bound to the posts, my arse barely on the edge of the bed, my legs spread wide with the bar.

“Superb,” he said. “You look divine.”

I was sure I did to him, because he’d told me once that whatever he did to me, however my body reacted, be it with sweat or a fierce blush, I was beautiful in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, are you ready for me to begin?”

Begin? I thought you’d already started.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
Please, please, please.

One of his toes tapped on the tiles, then the other. A waft of air went over my legs, and the mattress either side of my arse cheeks dipped. I thought he might be leaning on his hands there, staring at me, inspecting how elongated my nipples were. Having a good look at what he’d done. Watching me to see my chest rising and falling, sweat popping out on my temples, and oddly, a rash of goosebumps that had spread across my belly.

My cunt quivered at my thoughts.

Warm air sailed across my slit, and oh, Lord, I knew where he was now. Elbows on the bed, his face inches from my pussy. He was determined to see if I’d keep still even while he licked me out. To see if I’d refrain from squirming.

The wet heat of his tongue as he drew it up from my hole then stopped just before my clit… I
almost
writhed,
almost
jammed my hips up so my cunt was mashed right into his face. I held back curses, bit my tongue while he used his to slide a delicious path all the way back down again.

Shitfuckshit…

My hole spasmed, and he’d have felt it, would know he was turning me the hell on. I wanted him to poke that tongue deep inside me then draw it back out and swirl the tip around my clit. I wanted…just wanted, plain and simple, everything he had to offer.

“You taste wonderful,” he said, breath hot against my exposed flesh. “And you smell wonderful.” He swiped up and down again. “Did you know, after I’ve licked you out and I go home”—he circled my hole—“that I can smell you still, that I deliberately”—he treated my clit to a featherlight lick—“don’t wash my face?”

I didn’t answer, but no, I hadn’t known that. The thought that he wanted my scent on him, my dried cum clinging to his skin, brought a fresh rising of goosebumps scattering across my belly.

“And once,” he went on, “when I got up the next morning, I didn’t wash then either. I went to work with you right there.”

He planted his mouth over my cunt, French kissed it, tongue going inside my hole, his top lip skimming my clit, the bottom one teasing the top of the patch of skin that joined one hole to the other. God, he knew what he was doing, and exactly how to do it. My clit bobbed with my need for more—
friction, pressure, proper stimulation, give it to me, please, just give it to me
. He denied me that, continuing with his maddening taunt of a kiss, knowing, I was sure, that he wasn’t giving me enough.

The mattress either side of me sprang up, and I had a second or two to wonder what he was doing while he still feasted on my cunt. Then my nipples were dragged south, where he’d perhaps took hold of the chains and pulled them down in the middle.

I screamed again. Loud. Long. Shrill.

The pain was superb. Utterly and without a doubt superb.

More, Sir. Give me more.

He gave it, setting up a steady rhythm—tug, release, tug, release, kissing my cunt harder—until I forgot to breathe. All I could think about was what he was doing and how it felt. Utterly painful on my nipples—
I love it, love, it, keep doing that
. Pleasurable but not pleasurable enough on my pussy—
harder, kiss me harder, suck my clit, suck it, suck it, suck it
.

I finally caved in to instinct and lifted my hips, giving my nipples some respite as the chains must have slackened a bit, and shoving my wet slit against his face as I’d wanted to. I saw it in my mind, him down there between my forced-open legs, still in his suit, for all the world looking like he was merely eating lunch. While I, I was displayed as his feast, not only my body bared but my soul too. He had all of me, that man, yet with one word—
sugar, you might need to say it tonight
—I could take it all away.

“Talk to me,” he said into my folds then continued with his kissing assault.

“I can’t…say much…Sir.”

He flattened his tongue and laved upwards, one drawn-out movement that had enough pressure to bring me off if he did the same again. Except he stopped, tongue flat over my clit, and I was sure he could feel it throbbing. The muscles in my back and legs strained. I longed to lower myself to the bed, but knew if I did my nipples would be yanked again and my cunt would lose that closer connection with his mouth. I stayed where I was.

“It’s just,” I said, “I can’t find…the words, Sir.”

He took his mouth away. Gave the chains a harder tug. “Try.”

I cried out, thrashing my head from side to side as darts of unadulterated pleasure-pain ripped through my breasts. My head went empty, and it felt as though I’d begun to float. No, I didn’t want subspace, not now, not right this minute. I fought it, wanted to be wholly present when he licked my cunt again. Wanted to feel every swish of his tongue.

When he went back to shorter, lighter yanks on the chain, I found myself retreating from entering that place I go to when the pain borders on being too much. I was back where I wanted to be, on the bed and not in my head, body and all it could feel present, my mind sharp again. The incessant pulls on my nipples suddenly didn’t hurt anymore, becoming something that was just happening, my hard buds at last desensitized, the movement producing nothing but a dull ache.

“I’m… I want more, Sir. I need you to make me come.”

Instead of telling me I’d come when he saw fit and not before, he devoured my cunt this time, licking hard, flicking everywhere at once, it seemed. My lips were already open for him, my hole gaping, but he must have let the chains go, for now he spread my lips even wider with his fingers. He exerted pressure, the kind I’d been after all along, and wreaked havoc on my cunt with his mouth, sucking, licking, sucking, until the build-up of my orgasm grew. It crashed on me, in me, over me, sweeping me up and away, plundering through me until my lower half humped his face of its own accord and the pleasure seemed to want to rip me in half.

I gloried in the sensations, seeing myself again in my head as I must appear on the bed, chained, trussed up, displayed just for him. Someone to be used by him—only him. Someone who was on the verge of blacking out because the bliss was so intense. That talented tongue of his flashed about in all directions, always coming back to whip over my clit to ensure a fresh wave of pleasure radiated from it. It went on and on, that licking, that orgasm, wringing me out, my cum squirting and him lapping it up. I was vaguely aware of the rubber restraints grazing my wrists, of the ankle manacles digging into my skin, of those awful, hideous-yet-magnificent nipple clamps grinding their teeth.