“Come here.”

His voice behind her held that subtle something that warned her it was not a request.  Her breath caught and she stiffened in her chair, frozen momentarily as the usual complex mélange of emotions and thoughts washed over her: excitement, anticipation, trepidation.  A tiny thrill of fear mingled with hope – would he do something terrible to her?  Half-wishing and half-fearing he would.

“Come.  Here.”

She swallowed hard and slowly pushed her chair back.  She braced her hands on her desk, using its comforting solidity to force her trembling legs to take her weight.  She turned and pushed the chair back in, and tentatively moved toward him, not quite daring to meet his eyes even when she stopped directly in front of him.

“Take your clothes off.”

She bit her lip, her tension rising even further.  Tshirt, jeans, bra, and panties all landed over the back of the couch beside her, until she stood naked before him.  She clasped her hands together in front of her and waited for his next command.  I never know where to put my hands when I’m naked, she thought.

His fingertips drifting over her collarbone and down onto the curve of one heavy breast distracted her.  She instinctively stood straighter, letting her arms fall to her sides, presenting herself for his touch.  He lightly brushed over one already-hard nipple, making her squeak slightly.  He drew his hand back a little, then flicked the nipple sharply.  A yip of pain escaped her.  He laughed, and flicked her nipple again, harder.  This time when she yipped, her body jerked involuntarily, though she stilled herself quickly.  Her pain was his pleasure; she wouldn’t try to escape it.  A third flick, much more vehement, changed her yip to a moan that mingled pain with pleasure. 

Satisfied with her reactions, his touch returned to gentleness, caressing both breasts before sliding down to the juncture of her thighs.  She shifted her balance to widen her stance, giving him better access to her smooth-shaven pussy.  He petted her outer lips so softly it was torturous, teasing, before shifting to her inner thighs, stroking close, so close! But never quite touching her pussy again. 

“Are you wet?”

She nodded rapidly, whimpering.  The silence stretched expectantly for several seconds before she realized he was waiting for a vocal answer.  She swallowed, licked her lips, and whispered, “Yes.”

As a reward, he let his fingers brush over her pussy again momentarily, getting a tiny, tormented moan in response.

“How wet?”

She had to force the words out.  Verbalizing in situations like this didn’t come easy to her.  “R…really wet.  Master.”  She bit her lip at the title; he had made it clear he expected her to address him properly in these moments, but she still found it frighteningly difficult for reasons she couldn’t explain, no matter how she tried.

“Good.  Up on the bed.”

He stepped back to let her precede him around the screen that served to separate the “bedroom” and “living room” areas of their studio apartment.  She climbed up onto the bed on her hands and knees, then started to turn and face him.

“Stay.”

She froze, still on all fours facing away from him.

He came to the edge of the bed and placed on hand on her soft, round ass.  He stroked and petted for a minute, letting his hand drift tantalizingly close to her pussy over and over again – and frighteningly close to her rear entry a few times, too, enjoying the way she wavered between opening to him in desire and tensing in fear depending on where his fingers wandered.  Her breathing grew ragged, each breath carrying a faint whimper of helpless need, of needy helplessness.  When he had her in this kind of surrendered state, there was nothing he couldn’t do to her, nothing that she wouldn’t submit to, and they both knew it – and both found that knowledge equally intoxicating, though in entirely different ways.

Abandoning his teasing for the moment, he slid his hand up her spine until it rested between her shoulders, then gave a firm push down.  She offered no resistance as he positioned her with her face and shoulders pressed against the covers, with her ass still in the air.  He nudged her thighs, prompting her to open her legs wider.  Satisfied, he stepped back to admire his wife and slave, legs spread and back arched, thrusting her pussy and ass in the air, displaying herself to him. 

“Stay.”

He fetched his phone, turned on the camera function, and began snapping shots of her exposed bits, her inviting posture.  She whined deep in her throat as she heard the artificial shutter-snap sound and knew he was taking pictures of her like this…but she made no attempt to move or cover herself.  And indeed, the knowledge of his desire for photos overriding her hating to have pictures taken was enough in itself to reinforce her surrender, sending her even further into pliancy and obedience even as her cheeks burned and her hands clenched on the blankets.

Enough, he decided.  The impromptu photo-shoot had done what he’d intended, forcing her to acknowledge his dominance a little more – and he’d gotten some nice shots, too, which was a bonus.  He set the phone aside and returned to touch her again.

This time, though, his fingers went straight for her pussy.  He parted her nether lips and found her wetter than he’d ever felt her before.  She moaned and squirmed a little at his touch, gasping as he rubbed one finger over her clit, arching her back and pressing herself against his hand. 

“Are you enjoying this, my pet?”

She whimpered wordlessly.  So he caught her clit between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing only lightly, but still enough to make her freeze. 

“Answer properly.”

A shuddering gasp.  Another.  He tightened his grip a little more, knowing she didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to admit her own enjoyment of the humiliation and control he had over her, but giving her no choice.  He would force her to admit it.

A tiny, tortured moan escaped her lips.  He added more pressure on her clit, eliciting a soft cry of surprise and pain. 

“Say it.”

Finally she forced the words out.  “Y-yes!  Yes, M…Master.”

He released her clit and saw some of the tension go out of her. 

“Good girl.”

She writhed a little at the words – the phrase “good girl” always had that kind of effect on her.

“In fact, I think my good girl deserves a little bit of a reward, don’t you?”

She swallowed hard, then whispered, “If it pleases you, Master.”  Obviously she didn’t want to presume too much, and yet just as obviously she wanted the nebulous “reward” he offered.

So without further play, he slid one finger into her.  Just one; she found that more of a tease than anything, just enough to taunt her with penetration but without the fullness she liked to feel.  He finger-fucked her, slowly, deliberately, enjoying the muffled sounds she made as she pressed her face into the blankets, the way her breathing quickened and her back arched, offering herself again.  He kept going until the tease of it began to outweigh the pleasure, judging by her increasingly desperate whimpers and the way she began trying to grind her hips against his hand. 

As soon as she reached that point…he stopped.  Not removing his hand, simply holding still and watching as she continued to move for a few more seconds before realizing he wasn’t finger-fucking her anymore.  She was doing it herself.  As soon as she realized that, she stilled, and he heard a pitiful whine of mingled shame and frustrated need.

“Don’t stop.”

Her breath caught, and her hips slowly began to rock back and forth again.  Only a tiny bit – she was still caught by the shame of his noticing her fucking back against his hand. 

“Faster.  This is your reward, pet.  You’ve been a good girl, so I’ll allow you to fuck yourself on my hand while I watch.  I’ll even let you cum if you can.”

With only one finger inside her, and not specifically stimulating her g-spot, it was unlikely at best.  But then, that was the fun of it.  For him, anyway.

She moved faster, in longer strokes.  Her breathing quickened until she was panting, fucking back against his hand as hard and fast as she could, frantically trying to bring herself to orgasm.  He smiled as he watched her desperation rising, simply enjoying the show she was putting on for him, his tame little bitch-in-heat.

“Would you like to cum, pet?”

This time the answer came instantly.  “Yes Master!  Please…”

“Maybe I’ll give you another finger to fuck yourself on.  Would you like that?  Would that help?”

She moaned at the thought, and her inner muscles tensed around his finger a little more. 

“Well?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then beg for it.  If you’re a good girl and beg nicely, maybe I’ll give it to you.”

All during their conversation, she had continued humping back against his hand.  Now she slowed, clearly torn between wanting and humiliation.  Verbalizing this kind of thing was difficult for her – he knew that as well as he knew she wouldn’t be able to cum from fucking herself with one finger.  But that was the point; to drive her to desperation, until the need was great enough to break through the silence barrier.  To force her to humble herself, humiliate herself not only by putting on a show but by begging for more while she did it.

At last, a quiet mumble from her.  “P…please.  Please fuck me with two fingers.  Please, Master…?”

A good start.  But not enough.

“I’m not fucking you, pet.  You’re fucking yourself.  Ask properly.  And louder this time.”

She made a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sob.  “Please…please…”

“Go on.”

He waited while she took in and blew out several breaths, hesitating each time as if that was the one she would use to speak with…and then exhaling because she couldn’t make herself do it.  Her hips rocking back against him had quickened their pace again.  He could see her wetness beginning to coat her inner thighs.  As frightening and humiliating as this was for her, she was obviously getting off on it.

Well.  Not quite getting off.  Which was kind of the point.

“Please…pleasemayIhavetwofingers Master.”  The words tumbled out of her in a gasp.

“Maybe.  That depends.  What do you want them for?”

“I…I want…to fuck myself on them.  Please.”

“As I said, ask properly.”

A high, keening sound escaped her throat.  She pushed her face into the blankets to muffle it.  Finally, finally she managed to blurt out, “Please may I have two fingers to fuck myself on, Master?  Please?  Please…”  the last “please” was a tortured groan.

Good enough.  Between one thrust of her hips and the next, he withdrew his hand entirely, leaving her grinding against nothing but air, whining helplessly at the emptiness and lack of stimulation…then he slammed not two, but three fingers into her, startling a loud cry of pleasure out of her.  As her movement abruptly changed from slow and yearning to furiously fucking his hand, he reached over with his other hand, gripped a handful of her hair and pulled hard.

“Cum.  Now.”

The sudden sensory overload did what he’d intended.  Her body helplessly responded to his command, overtaken by a frighteningly intense orgasm.  Her cunt clenched around his fingers, her whole body seized in spasms of ecstasy, and her fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists in the blankets as she screamed.

It lasted nearly ten seconds…but as he felt her starting to come down, he decided that wasn’t enough.  Still keeping his grip on her hair, he stopped letting her fuck herself on his hand and started roughly pounding his fingers into her.  She gasped, shuddering uncontrollably as he forced a second orgasm out of her, then a third without even pausing.  He turned her face into the bed to muffle her cries as he kept going, giving her no respite, no chance to catch her breath, simply wringing one climax after another from her exhausted flesh.

Not until her cries turned into moans of pain, interspersed with mumbled begging for him to stop, did he slow his relentless assault and withdraw.  He turned her face back toward him, flushed and tearstained and gorgeous, and presented his fingers for her to lick clean, which she did without hesitation.  Only then did he release her hair and settle onto the bed, laying on his back.

“Come here, pet.”

Shaking and sweating, utterly wrung out, she crawled to him, lying on her side next to him, pillowing her head on his shoulder.  He wrapped one arm around her, and gently petted her hair with the other.

“Good girl.  What a very good girl.”  Even in her state of extremis, he felt a deep tremor run through her at the words, and smiled. 

“Rest now, pet.  You’ve earned it.”

They rested together for some ten minutes, coming back to the real world.  At last he lifted his head and looked at her, draped over his chest. 

“I hope you aren’t going to make me go to these lengths every time I want to hear you beg,” he teased her.

She stretched lazily, then smiled up at him.  “Oh, I don’t know.  I’m not sure I’d mind that at all.”