Free The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey by Claire Thompson Page B

leather cuffs in her hands, the clips glinting silver in the soft lighting of the room. “Wrists,” she said briskly. Owen held out his wrists, a sensual, peaceful feeling moving over him as she clipped the cuffs into place.
    “Stand up,” Mistress Sylvie commanded. “Hands behind your head, eyes ahead. Don’t move a muscle until I return.”
    Owen obeyed, locking his fingers behind his neck, aware his cock was already rising with anticipation as Mistress Sylvie slipped from the stool and moved toward the toy table. She was there a while. Owen tried to see what she was doing in his peripheral vision, but her back was to him. His mind spun with the possibilities as visions of rope, chain and whips moved in an erotic jumble through his imagination.
    When Mistress Sylvie came back into his line of vision, Owen saw she was wearing latex gloves. In one hand was a tube of lubricant. She held out other. “Do you know what this is?”
    Owen swallowed. “Yes, Mistress.”
    “Tell me.”
    “It’s a butt plug, Mistress.” Though he’d never seen one in person, he’d seen them used often enough on the BDSM porn sites he sometimes scrolled through on the Internet. He’d watched in fascination as the shiny black plug was pushed slowly into some gorgeous woman’s ass, disappearing between her cheeks until only the flat circle of rubber at its base remained in view.
    “Have you ever had a butt plug used on you, slave Owen?” Mistress Sylvie asked.
    “No, Mistress,” Owen replied, his heart fluttering against his ribs. In spite of the situation, or, if he were completely honest, perhaps partially because of it, he felt his cock harden. He’d thought often about the session when Mistress Sylvie had probed his ass, searching for the sweet spot, as she’d called it, and finding it. That scene had been intimate, even sexual, between them, at least it had been for him. He would have rather experienced that again—her gentle, sure fingers, the sweet murmur of her voice over him, her breasts grazing his back as she moved.
    Mistress Sylvie shook him out of the brief fantasy as she pointed toward the stool.  “Bend over and spread your legs,” she ordered. “You may grip the legs of the stool with your hands for balance.”
    Owen took a deep breath, willing his body to comply. In spite of his trepidation, a part of him was deeply aroused by the authority in her tone. She didn’t ask him—she commanded, and he, with all choice removed, obeyed.
    Bending over the stool, he shifted until his midriff was resting against the seat, his legs spread, his ass thrust outward. He drew in a sharp breath when he felt Mistress Sylvie’s hands spread his ass cheeks. He was glad his face was hidden from her as she examined his exposed asshole, lightly rimming it with a single finger. He tensed as he felt a blob of gooey lube squeezed onto the puckered hole.
    Owen squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip when he felt the tip of the hard rubber butt plug pushing against his tight sphincter. “That’s it,” Mistress Sylvie urged. “You are doing well, Owen. Don’t resist what I want for you. Give of yourself. Show me you can obey, even when it’s difficult for you.”
    Energized by her words, Owen made a conscious effort to relax his rectal muscles, trying not to clench as the plug was pushed slowly but inexorably into his passage. He did okay until the very end, when the flared base of the plug stretched him painfully open as it slipped inside.
    “Ah!” he cried, before he could stop himself. “That hurts!”
    And it had hurt, but just as quickly, the pain subsided as his sphincter muscles adapted to the invading phallus. He felt Mistress Sylvie’s hands moving over his ass and back.  She leaned over his body, her breasts pressed against him, separated only by the silk that covered them.
    “You will be punished for speaking out of turn.” Owen felt Mistress Sylvie’s soft cheek against his shoulder and he wanted to turn and kiss