His Christmas Gift - Myrna's Submission Excerpt

Heat – intense need. Twisting against the bonds holding her, Myrna fought to get closer to the tormenting mouth of her Master. Under her back, the cool wood felt like satin to her over-stimulated senses. Her spread thighs were slick with the proof of her need but no matter how she thrashed, her Master refused to touch the most swollen bud on her body. Instead, his hard fingers were toying with the clover leaf clamps attached to her aching nipples. The pressure and erotic sting they provided had her panting. If he kept tugging, she’d come and the bastard knew it. Despite her refusal to voice why she both loved and hated the devilish clamps, he somehow knew they were the key to unlock her dormant sensuality.

“Please, Master.” Even to her own ears she sounded desperate. Inwardly she cringed. She didn’t recognize herself anymore. Where had all of her control gone to? She groaned harshly when Amery’s agile tongue, followed by his teeth, found her clit. A gush of liquid escaping her already soaking wet folds had her tensing. It was all she could do to fight off her need to come against his lashing tongue and torturous fingers tugging on the clamps. Grant had drilled into her head with numerous harsh punishments that she wasn’t allowed to ejaculate when she came. His disgust at her body’s uninhabited response had been largely responsible for her decline in finding her own sexual pleasure.

She gave a whimper which was a cross between a sigh of relief and a moan of frustration as her memories doused her immediate need to come. Even though she was relieved to not open herself to Amery’s sure disgust, she was frustrated that she had to control- to deny her own body. Why can’t I give up total control without risking rejection?

“Come back to me, slave. Forget about what you think you know.”

Her eyes opened. In a daze she realized she wasn’t alone. Around the table were the other founding members of the club. Master Simon was sitting in his chair while his slave slowly rode his thick erection. Master Liam had his blonde submissive bent over and braced against the table near her head. The slapping sounds of flesh on flesh told their own story. Mistress Angelica was reclining on a settee not far away with her legs sprawled apart while Sanders’ face was buried between them. The soft moans escaping the Domme’s throat told Myrna that Sanders was quite proficient with his tongue.

“Ahhh!” The sound ripped from Myrna was sensual pain bordered on pleasure. It coursed through her thighs causing another deluge of wetness to escape her. Her eyes traveled down her belly to see the heated look in Master’s eyes before he released the skin of her inner thigh from his teeth – leaving behind reddened flesh.

“Fuck…yes! Let your sweetness spill all over the table!” With his tongue distended, he lapped at the droplets clinging to her swollen labia.

Her body trembled at the feather light touch of his tongue. She was mere seconds away from begging for the harder, rougher touch she needed. Tugging helplessly at the bonds holding her for his pleasure, she fought with her body. Every wet sucking sound coming from her body warned her if she let him continue she would erupt in ways he wasn’t prepared for.

“Ma...Master…please!” Her broken cry seemed to resonate within Amery. His harsh growl bathed her inner folds as he parted them to slide two calloused fingers within. She jerked before letting out a hiss as her pussy muscles grasped and tugged at the thick intrusion. Oh, God! It’s been years since I’ve had anything other than my own fingers and my slimline vibrator inside me.

“Christ, you’re so wet, slave, I bet I could slide my whole fist inside you.”

She shook her head in denial. “No, no! Please don’t! I can’t…you’ll make me…I’ll…” She tried to form the words to warn him but couldn’t. A squeal was ripped from her when he forced another finger inside of her.

“That’s three, shall we go for four?” The raspy bark had her frantically shaking her head. She couldn’t stand it! Her thighs were trembling, her nipples were hard even aching under the clamps as her pussy was rhythmically squeezing his fingers. Oh God, I’m gonna come…I can’t. It’ll kill me if he turns away in disgust!

“Quit fighting it!” Amery lifted his hand before bringing it sharply down on the side of her breast. The resulting burn had her jerking. It took a force of will to keep her orgasm at bay. Frantically she tried to think of something else – anything to take her mind off the fast approaching climax.

“Myrna, look at me.” The soft plea got through to her when a hard order would’ve slid off her with ease. She met his glittering eyes even as his buried fingers brushed the rough patch of tissue which made up her G-spot. Gritting her teeth, she tried fight the overwhelming pleasure. “Let go, m’gnogag. Give me my due as your Master. Come for me.”

“I can’t...Master.” Her broken sob had the gentleness fleeing from his expression.

“Unacceptable!” He grabbed the clover leaf clamp and jerked on it.

Myrna barely saw the shocked expression on his face as the pain forced her vision to darken while her world exploded with her violent release. The sound of her climax splattering on the table had her groaning…he now knew her deepest secret.

Jerking awake in the throes of an orgasm was a first for Myrna. Dazed with pleasure and still half asleep, she twisted, writhed, and jerked against the bedding, abrading her already sore nipples against the flannel sheets. A muffled shriek left her as the motion forced her orgasm to continue. She had a vague thought about the bedding which would surely be soaked, but was so lost to her pleasure, she refused to care. It rolled over her in harsh jerking waves, battering her body until she wasn’t sure who or where she was. A long drawn out wail of agonizing ecstasy heralded the end of the torturous pleasure.

When the seemingly endless climax finally subsided, she collapsed against the bedding, her breathing ragged. Oh God, I haven’t come like that in years. Rolling over, she pushed the duvet and sheets away from her body. As she stumbled from the bed, a cool breeze teased her flesh and she shivered. Where’s my nightgown? Standing on still trembling legs, she raked her fingers through her loose hair. Loose hair? She never wore her hair loose while she slept.

©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.