Free His by Carolyn Faulkner

ceiling.
    Raina sobbed as he emptied himself into her, each short sharp ending thrust rocking her poor breasts, and coldly pressing the material and zipper of his dress pants against her blazing buttocks.
    But it was not over.
    Only when he was through, when he'd eked the last of himself out into her bottom, did he disengage from her, clean himself up, and come back around to unhook her from the chains that hung from the ceiling, then her feet from the eye hooks in the floor. He carried her to her trusty table, then reattached her there so that she was immobile again, her bottom at the very end - almost hanging off - the end of the table, her legs held via the bar between them, well back and spread, her privates laid out before him like a buffet.
    He rolled his big comfy office chair out from behind his desk, and planted himself in it, where he would have the easiest time of molesting her. Slowly. Calculatedly.
    It was a long evening for Raina.
    Her Master took complete and total enjoyment from torturing her in the usual manner - spanking, paddling, belting her, using the cat, binding her breasts. But sometimes he tortured her in a completely different manner - he forced her to spend hours on the edge of an incredibly explosive culmination - but wouldn't allow her to actually realize it.
    He'd done this several times before, and Raina knew, even though she couldn't see what he was doing, exactly what she was in for. She'd almost rather have been caned for the next three hours rather than having to go through what she knew she was in for.
    He knew her all too well. Once he'd sat down, he popped back up, only to remove her blindfold, so that she could see herself and him in the mirror that he'd had hung directly above several days after that awful Santa Claus examination. And, even worse than seeing herself lying there, he began to talk to her, describing just what he was seeing. It added insult to injury that everything he did, everything he said, everything she saw being done to herself, no matter how degrading or humiliating, made her body weep and ache and throb.
    At first, he didn't touch her. He merely leaned over, placing his face mere inches from exactly where she wanted him to bury it, speaking to her in that low, almost hypnotic tone he sometimes used if he needed to calm her. "I think I say it every time I get you trussed up in any way at all, but I love seeing you like this. I love it when you're completely helpless. You're such a good sub - you never seem to really rebel, but I like making sure you couldn't even if you were of a mind to. I like having you spread before me - so that I can see every inch, every spec of what your body usually tries to hide from my eyes by its mere design."
    Raina could feel his hot breath wafting over her privates, and even just that slightest touch was enough to make her want to arch up against it, which, of course, she couldn't. Raina thought that if he just touched her once, if she felt anything against that part of her body, she would come apart, despite all of the rules he had in place for her about denying her own release until she had permission from him to do so.
    And she knew that that was a long time away, and she was right.
    As he spoke, he reminded her that if she gave in, if she let herself go one instant before he allowed it, that he would make her very, very sorry. All Raina could hope was that he wouldn't use his mouth until the very last.
    His words of warning flowed over her various points of overheated skin of one sort or another, then into her ears, where it traveled back down to the area he was sitting in front of. She was so sensitized to him that she couldn't help but respond to any effort he made towards her, especially in this situation. Her clit was so engorged it was as if it was trying to reach out to him, to gain his attention, and most specifically his touch.
    But what he did was draw his fingertips - his rough, callused fingertips - over the area,