Free The Slave by Laura Antoniou Page B

room grew to such
an intensity that she heard the distant whooshing sounds of the
cars along the highway.
    “ What have you learned?” His voice was
supernaturally loud in her ear, and she jumped. She hadn’t even
realized that he was leaning forward, over her, next to
her.
    “ To... to not wear clothes without
your direction,” she managed back.
    “ What else?”
    “ To... Ah!” He had seized her even
tighter, curling his fingers into her, making her body squirm under
him. “To make sure I know what is proper, sir! Before I do
something!”
    “ Good.” He raised his body away from
hers and placed the strap on the table next to her head. Then, he
placed one firm hand at the back of her neck, while his hand
remained nestled between her legs.
    “ Don’t try to bring your legs
together. Spread them wider apart. That’s it. Never try to close
yourself to me. Next time, I’ll use something you won’t like at
all. But admit it, you did like the strap.”
    Oh, how did his voice go from matter-of-fact
to sultry? Or was it all in her mind, the gentle lilt that she
heard now that wasn’t there before? She did as he instructed spread
her legs wide, and whimpered slightly as he played with her.
    “ Yes, sir,” she whispered, clutching
at the air. “Yes, I like it.”
    “ Tell me about something you don’t
like.”
    “ Paddles,” Robin answered, a little
too fast.
    He chuckled. “But paddles are common
things. Every player of sex games has one hidden in the lingerie
drawer. Surely you’ve learned to endure the touch. Now, tell me
something less common. What, if given the option―and I am sure you
have been granted this―would you remove from a player’s arsenal
from fear or knowledge? What makes you squeal and cry and surrender
utterly? What frightens you?”
    His hand never stopped, in fact, it
demanded more reaction from her. Gently stroking, it opened her and
retreated, circled and pressed, flicked and massaged at her, until
she really bit her lip and tasted warm salt in her mouth. Groaning,
she tried to still the jerking movements of her hips, and her
desperate efforts seemed to amuse him even more.
    “ I asked you a question, girl. Answer
now.”
    The hand left the back of her neck and went
toward the strap and she gasped out, “Canes! I’m afraid of
canes!”
    “ Really?”
    “ Yes, sir!” She moaned, and gasped,
and her breath started coming in those light rhythmic waves that
signaled an approach to ecstasy, and then his hand
stopped.
    “ How interesting. What about knives?”
His hands left her all together, and she moaned again, from their
absence.
    “ No,” she whispered, her voice now
more than slightly strained. “No, sir, I’ve played with knives.
They scare me, but not as much as canes. Canes are... different.”
Her entire body seemed to ache again. But the ache circled around
her clit, and spread outward. Even the burning pain of her glowing
ass cheeks couldn’t compare to the erotic agony between her
thighs.
    “ Bring me more coffee. And a damp
towel, and the telephone. And then clean the table off, I think you
may have marred the polish a little.”
    Feeling slightly faint, Robin managed to
push herself off the table. She had indeed marred the polish a
little, with the marks of her body, her sweat, her little pool of
tears. Her nipples were tight, compressed by her own body against
the wood, erect with the pleasure of Parker’s expert probing. Robin
fled to the kitchen with a flush covering her face, and her hands
trembled when she took a coffee cup down from a shelf. In the
reflection of the oven door, she could see the difference in color
between her legs, back, and that area between them.
    Oh God , she thought, reaching back to touch
the heat. Oh
God, I can’t take this.
    But she followed his directions, and watched
him wipe his hands with the damp towel, as dispassionately as a
terrace gardener who had pulled up a very small weed before coming
to dinner. Would she never stop