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“Brand you with…”
“Take it like a good…”
“Yeah…”
“…my pretty toy?”
“…slutty little pussy wants…”
My Master’s filthy words are birds that fly diagonally through my consciousness, entering from the bottom, then exiting out the top, or dive-bombing from above and disappearing beneath.
But as his grip on my shoulder tightens and he loops his other arm around the front of my hips, my body seeming weightless as he pulls me on and off his cock while he fucks up into me, using me like the sex doll I aimed to be for him, I hear it loud and clear when he yanks me up to growl in my ear.
“Take it all.”
With one last thrust that’s violent enough to bruise my insides—and a weird part of me hopes it does—he comes with a roar that breaks my entire body out in chills. His grip on me is brutal as I feel jet after jet of hot cum coat my walls, feeling like a soothing balm on the pain I begged for.
CHAPTER 22
Seven
Every muscle in my body is at its tension limit as I come deep inside my doll’s fist-like pussy. If I were to flex a single fiber any harder, that piece of me would be shredded. And with the last pulse of my orgasm, all of that tension leaves me at once, making me feel faint.
If there wasn’t that sliver of conscious control that remained intact while the rest of me went full-on beast mode, I would collapse to the ground and stay there for the rest of the night. In fact, that still sounds like a great option, except I’ll make sure to cushion my sweet submissive’s landing when we fall.
I let her down my body until her front rests on the padded table once again, and when I ease out of her and take a step back, I can’t help but notice she looks more like a sex doll now than she did while playing the role.
I gather her into my arms, and carry her over to the overstuffed leather chair against the wall we always use for aftercare. Once she’s nestled just right in my lap so that she won’t slip downward or fall over, I undo the cuffs that were stuck between her body and the playtable while I ravaged her, looking over that part of her I’ve always found so delicate and fragile. Her wrists are so petite they look as if they could be snapped between my fingers like a pencil. I’m happy to find them still intact.
I take one of her hands and lift it to my lips, my eyes meeting hers that are stuck at half-mast. If it weren’t for the tiny permasmile on her face, I’d be a little worried. I watch her watching me as I kiss around her wrist, her gaze never leaving my mouth as I gently set that hand down and trade it for the other. I treat it to the same kiss-and-make-it-better as the first, seeing the corners of her lips lift a teensy bit higher when I place her palm against my bearded cheek and lock it there with my own.
I clear my throat that’s suddenly clogged, telling myself to pull it together. Aftercare is an important part of our D/s dynamic. Some submissives don’t want anything to do with it, but my little doll needs it to feel complete, and she soaks up every second of it like it fills something inside her, a bucket of love or worth or happiness that gets used up during daily life and has to be replenished frequently to keep her going. And I’m all too happy to give her free refills at every opportunity.
Tonight though, I want to use this opportunity to set things right outside our dynamic. Yes, it’s manipulative, but when it comes to my wife, it’s the only time her mind is at ease enough to not overthink the things I’m saying. And I need all the help I can get.
I huff out a single, quiet laugh, shaking my head a little, keeping our hands right where they are against my cheek. “I’m trying to think of anything… anything at all to say that could express to you….” I shrug, swallowing hard. “There are no words to articulate the praise you deserve, Twyla.”
Her eyes open fully and blink at my use of her real name. When we’re within the walls of the club, she’s my doll, and I’m Master to her and Seven to everyone else. But I want her to know I’m not just speaking to her as my submissive. I’m talking to my wife, the mother of my child, my soul mate.
“Once I have a chance to process everything in your card and everything you did to prepare for the gift you gave me tonight, and the excellent execution of it”—I grin—“I’m sure I’ll be able to wax poetic about all the ways you deserve the goldest of stars. But…” I shake my head again, saying softly, “Just… thank you.”
I put every ounce of emotion I feel into those two simple words. And the way her eyes tear up, I know she feels it as she nods.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers.
I turn my face to kiss the center of her palm, then let it go to gather her closer to my chest. She presses it over my heart, where she starts to pet my chest hair like she does every chance she gets. Like I’m her personal security blanket or stuffy she uses to soothe herself. And it’s one of my favorite roles in life—being the thing that brings her easy and immediate comfort.
“Things are going to change after tonight, my doll,” I tell her, skimming my palm from her knee, down the outside of her thigh, up her hip and back, then back down again. I do this slowly over and over, knowing her shivers will start soon. Even after the lightest of play, adrenaline is always in abundance within my little sub because of her hair-trigger fear response. And once she starts to come down after that rush, she gets the shakes like she’s just taken an ice bath each and every time. It’s my job to keep her warm and comfort her through it until it passes.
“I want you to know I finally heard what you’ve been trying to tell me for years. Like, truly heard and absorbed your words and the unspoken ones between them.”
She tilts her head back to look up at me with confusion in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she whispers.
I tuck her face into its spot in the crook of my neck and shoulder. The shame I felt earlier is still inside me, and it feels like I can get what I have to say out a little easier if I don’t have to say it to her face. It’s cowardly, sure, but really, I know if I look into her eyes, I’ll only see them fill with misplaced guilt, because my wife is a truly selfless woman who lives and breathes to take care of her family. And I’m making it my job to get her to see she deserves to be the person she is inside and doesn’t need to alter herself to fit alongside anyone else.
“It’s taken me this long to see that you’ve been losing parts of yourself to make everyone else happy. You’ve been cutting off little bits and pieces to make yourself fit inside the spot where you think each one of us needs you. And that stops now.” My voice leaves no room for argument, but I continue to rub along her flesh, and like clockwork, her trembles begin.
“You gave up all parts of your adolescence and young adulthood as you focused solely on working toward your career. It was the one thing you wanted in life, and baby, you did it. But then you gave that up, because your sister needed you. You should feel no regrets about that, and I know you don’t. I’m just saying it happened. You did give up your career, which at that time was the biggest part of you.” My hand stops rubbing up her back long enough to squeeze her in order to emphasize the last word, and then it continues along its circuit.
