Free Fifty Days of Sin by Serena Dahl Page A

own time. I suck hard, and move up and down on him,
still keeping my hand moving on the shaft. I start to move faster,
sucking harder and taking him as far as I can into my mouth.
    I keep up the same pace, deep
and steady, and then as I feel him drawing nearer to climax I
increase the rhythm. Then with a deep thrust he comes, moaning
incoherently, and I lean back and look up into his face. I feel
triumphant, pleased that I’ve elicited such pleasure and obeyed his
instructions at the same time.
    “I think you have something to
say,” he says, looking down at me. For a moment I don’t know what
he means. Then I remember what I always tell him to say to me.
    “Thank you for letting me make
you come, sir,” I reply with a raised eyebrow.
    I flinch as he reaches out and
pinches my nipple again. “Right words, but wrong facial
expression,” he dictates. I can feel myself pouting with annoyance,
but try to school my features into a mask of politeness. After all,
from what he said earlier, he seemed to be promising me that I
would get to come again next. He rearranges himself and fastens the
fly of his jeans, once again leaving me nearly naked and him fully
clothed.
    He reaches out and I am
surprised as he gently caresses my cheek. “I think you’ve earned
the right to come now,” he tells me, smiling.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Lie down on the floor.”
    I do as I’m told.
    “Now you can make yourself
come.” I look up sharply, surprised, but then remember that he’s
only getting his own back for what I made him do in my room in
college a few weeks ago. Tentatively, I put my hand down to my
clitoris and start to rub it.
    “Come on, my dirty little bitch.
I know you do this to yourself. Show me exactly how you do it when
you’re on your own,” he commands.
    I am burning with resentment but
paradoxically, I’m turned on by the pain he’s inflicted on me and
the humiliation he’s putting me through. “Yes, sir,” I answer
through gritted teeth, as the thought occurs to me that perhaps I
need to see a psychiatrist.
    I stop rubbing, and open my
legs, putting my fingers between them to wet them with my own
juices. I start to touch my clitoris again, staring at Michael as
he watches me intently, still feeling embarrassed and exposed.
    Then I close my eyes and start
to forget my awkwardness as I edge closer and closer to the peak of
my pleasure. Unbidden, the thought of Adam kissing me last night
comes into my mind; it’s as if I can feel his hands on me again and
feel his kiss claiming my mouth. The thought pushes me over the
edge into ecstasy and suddenly I’m coming, rubbing myself just the
right way as I thrust my hips forwards as far as I can and the
sweet sensation of my climax floods through me.
    I look up at Michael, sated.
“Thank you for letting me come, sir,” I tell him.
    “Come here,” he says, his face
softened, smiling. I get up and curl into his lap. He holds me and
kisses me softly on my forehead in a surprisingly tender
gesture.
    “Was that okay?” he asks,
brushing my hair from my face and looking into my eyes.
    “It was weird,” I tell him. “It
might take a bit of getting used to.”
    “But it made you wet,” he points
out with a conspiratorial smile.
    “Yes, it did,” I admit. “I liked
the being tied up bit. Although you didn’t have to tie the string
so tight!” I look at my wrists. The red marks have still not
faded.
    “Sorry,” he says ruefully.
    I get up and start to fasten my
bra. “I take it I’m allowed to put this back on properly now?” I
ask sarcastically.
    “You can do what you like now,”
he grins. I shake my head at him with a half-smile and retrieve my
knickers, putting them on, and then I get dressed completely.
    “I’m surprised how tired I am
now,” I tell him, sitting down on the sofa again next to him. “Go
and make me a cup of tea now, there’s a love.”
    “I guess I owe you that,” he
admits and I watch him, bemused at the sudden switch back