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She masturbates with a vibrating dildo that he controls

And then pain exploded in my chest. My nipples were squeezed painfully in the clamps I remembered from one of my numerous punishments that first night. But this was not a punishment! I squealed, a cry unable to make its way out through my clenched teeth, and I shook with the effort of holding back the impulse to unclasp my hands and pry off the instruments of torture.

"Breathe, girl!" echoed in my head. I didn't know if he had repeated the order or if his voice had become part of my subconscious, but I drew in a sharp breath and exhaled. Again and again, I forced myself to breathe evenly, and within the space of a few breaths, the pain became manageable.

"Very good, sweet girl," he said. "You learn quickly." His palm against my cheek conveyed pride. His thumb stroked my cheekbone, nudging under the blindfold. He removed his hand and resettled the blindfold. "Your eyes are blue?"

He had asked me that the previous night, a question so unexpected I thought I must have misheard at first. But why ask again? I nodded, unable to speak without dropping the cane.

He chuckled in approval. A gust of air startled me, and then something struck my right thigh, not a belt or his hand, nor the paddle or a cane. The sting was diffuse, spread over a large area, and the thwack of its landing implied something pliable and soft. I grunted in not-quite-pain, puzzled. A second strike, to my other leg, stronger this time. My self-control wavered, and when it became clear that the sudden wind preceded a lash, I cringed in advance of the next. My breasts bobbed, renewing the pain in my nipples. Anticipating a sting similar to the first two, the third lash's deep, thudding blow caught me by surprise. My legs closed by reflex, seeking to protect the tender skin. I regretted the reaction even as my thighs came together, and I opened my mouth to plead for mercy.

The cane dropped into my lap. I reached for it, breaking the pose he'd put me in. I crumpled in anticipation of his rage.

"I expected better of you, girl!"

"Please, Master," I whispered.

"Surely you prefer the flogger to the cane."

"Please, Master. I was startled."

"Hush, girl. My instructions were clear." He seized my jaw in an iron grip. "I will leave my mark on you tonight after all. Will you wear my stripes on your behind?"

Was there another option? "Yes, Master." The only acceptable response, I knew.

"How many, girl? If I am unsatisfied with your suggestion, I will double it and add ten."

All traces of affection and pride were gone, replaced by disappointment and anger. He wanted me to name my own punishment? I could not! I knew all too well the agony of the cane, far worse than the ... flogger, had he called it? Far worse.

This man would never convince me that pain was not to be feared, nor that fear was good. And I no longer believed his tenderness was genuine. He sought to put me off balance. He had been unpredictable from the moment I had met him, and the only thing I was certain of now was that he thrived on my fear. Every action he took was calculated to instill terror.
"Girl?" he demanded. "My patience runs thin."

"Master, please have mercy."

"This is your own doing."

Arguing would earn me nothing but more pain and another discipline mark. And yet the words bubbled over before I could call them back. "I have no power, Master! You give me only the illusion of control, then take it away with a flick of your wrist. I understand my place, but it is cruel to suggest that anything that happens to me here is of my own making!"

"Cruel? Your obedience is up to you, girl, not me. I can only enforce my rules. You control whether you comply."

"And if the task is impossible?" If he was letting me speak, I would take full advantage.

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