Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
All those memories passed through my mind as I pushed the wand gently into the small of Heather’s back. Each one brought a little leap of arousal to my iron-hard erection, along with a throb of affection at the knowledge that the gorgeous Heather Foster, raised an independent American young woman, belonged to me fully—to love and to care for as well as to play with in the dark, obscene-yet-ecstatic way we both needed.
Her obedience without the help of the wand told me that, and her eyes said the same thing when I looked into them even as I used her body with all the roughness my dominance demanded. So did the trembling of her hips as my left thumb traced the pretty marks the birch had made on her pert little hind-cheeks.
I didn’t need the wand, but something about its effect on Heather made me want to have it near me. I had felt a good deal of reluctance this evening, lending it to Devushkin. Giving another man, and his friends, the ability to command Heather’s sexual obedience didn’t seem to have the same charm it had a few months ago—before…
Before falling in love with her.
She let out a little whimper, deep in her throat, as she felt the pressure of the wand’s rounded tip.
“Were you a good girl tonight, Heather?” I asked. I pressed the button on the wand and Heather stiffened slightly, as she always did, at what the broker had described as the ‘tingle’ a girl felt when the device exercised its effect. She would have to answer my question with the truth, under the wand’s influence.
“I tried, Master,” she said, her voice shaky, as if with fear of what I would do if I decided she hadn’t satisfied Devushkin and his friends properly.
She would have said the same thing without the wand, I knew. Again my mind went back to that very first night, the moment when I had used my soothing fingers between her thighs to make her beg—under the influence of the wand but without an explicit command—to have me in her mouth, desperately in need of an orgasm, of the reward she knew I would allow her if she served me well.
The good-girl wand gave me control of Heather, but I couldn’t help wondering whether it also gave Heather some small measure of control over me. Making her walk the delicate line between what she could admit she wanted and what she could only crave in the darkness of her shameful fantasies had endeared her to me just as much as her curiosity and her pretty smile—more, really.
“You may turn around and kneel down, girl,” I told her now. You may: not an order, but a permission.
With a little sob of submission that made my cock give another leap against my thigh, Heather straightened slightly and then turned, the soft, perfect skin of her hips brushing against my inner thighs. She knelt, just as she had knelt that first night, her face crimson and her eyes fixed on my rigid manhood.
“Please let me suck your cock, Master,” she whispered.
Heather
I felt my forehead crease deeply enough that I wondered for an instant if it would stay that way, a permanent furrow to mark the wanton need that seemed inextinguishable inside me. It rose up in front of me, hard and long, thick. It pulsed slightly, and each little throb sent a thrill of fear and shame to my heart.
I knew I couldn’t look away. The wand seemed to have some part to play in that, how my eyes couldn’t seem to move from the obscene sight of Ivan’s enormous cock, thrusting up from his lap, framed by his furry thighs and the luxurious silken fabric of his crimson robe that draped over his legs to either side.
But I also couldn’t tell how much of a role my own shameful lewd desires had in the compulsion: the heat surged into my face again as I remembered that my master hadn’t actually commanded me to look only there—he had simply informed me of the rule that I must have my eyes there when he chose to expose himself in front of me.
I knew from my experience with my anonymous trainer that rules like that one allowed a little leeway. I knew, that is, that if I really wanted to look away from the menacing, rigid penis I could. The central idea of the wand—that it only made me do the things I wanted to do but couldn’t let myself confess to wanting—had a kind of special case, with rules. I felt a sort of tug toward following the rule, just strong enough to make my terrible inner conflict clear.
If my mind could have mustered just a bit more control over my wanton pussy and the dark needs it fostered, I would have had the ability to break the rule. Instead, I followed its obscene demand: I kept my eyes on my master’s rock-hard manhood, and it made me mortifyingly aware of the truth.