To Sir Read Free Page A

her nipple with the feather, and she shivered, desperate to rub her legs together and bring some sensation to the apex of her thighs. Anything to push her over the edge and end this unbearable pleasure. He palmed her breast, plumping it, massaging and torturing it.
    He flicked the nipple with the tip of his finger, sending a jolt of sensation to her core. It wasn’t pain, exactly, but that zap of intense pleasure/pain almost brought her to orgasm. But she held it off. He pinched her nipple next, twisted it between his expert fingers, and then swiped his wet tongue over her peak. Every tug shot heat to her sex.
    His mouth latched on to her nipple, pulling strongly, and she gasped. Yes! This was what she needed. What she’d been denying herself, fighting against. And for what? Because of some screwed-up sense of right and wrong?
    The heat of his mouth disappeared, and a second later, cold metal encircled her nipple. She screamed, yanking against the restraints as he slowly tightened the clamp around her nub. Her body bucked, begging for release as her mind finally surrendered. She would have her release when he allowed it and not a moment before. A strange sense of freedom suffused her, and she let herself relax.
    “Silence,” he ordered.
    He closed another clamp over her second nipple. Pain wrapped around her, slight but amazing in its intensity. She bit her bottom lip, silencing her protests, her moans, her screams.
    The feather returned to her collarbone, trailing light tickles along her skin, across her chest, between her tingling breasts. He circled the outside of each areola with the feather, the tickling caress contrasting with the tightness of the clamps. Her knees threatened to give out, but her bound arms kept her body stretched open, leaving all her skin bare for him to tease, to torture.
    He blew warm air over her nipples, the feather trailing down her abdomen to tantalize the spot just north of where she needed his touch the most.
    “You’ve been naughty, haven’t you, Lizzie?”
    She nodded.
    “Answer me!”
    “Yes, Sir,” she squealed. God, she loved when he punished her. She was naughty on purpose so she could receive his special reprimands. He loved to punish her almost as she loved his harsh discipline.
    She heard the feather whip back and tensed. It swished at her sex, a light tap of pressure against her sensitized flesh. He’d shaved her bare there only yesterday, and the skin was so fresh, so raw that the slightest touch made her quiver. The nipple clamps tightened, and she cried out.
    “Are you sorry?”
    “Yes, Sir.” Surrender. Abandon. Freedom.
    His hand cupped her sex, and she flexed her hips. He smacked her clit with the tips of his fingers, fire spreading in their wake. Liquid heat pulsed through her channel, trickling down her leg. “Bad girl. Don’t move.”
    She whimpered, the sensations around her melting her insides. He would always be good to her. Always help her, cherish her, protect her. And she lived to please him. She knew it wasn’t PC, knew she should want to be independent, strong on her own. But what was so wrong with needing another person, man or woman?
    The clamps tightened again, the pressure this time almost too much. He knew where her almost was so well and always kept her on the right side of too much .
    “I’m going to make you want to come now. I’m going to push you hard to that edge and bring you back again. And again. But you do not come until I tell you to. This is your punishment.” And she was going to love every minute of it.
    His voice lapped against her like a thousand rushing waves, wrapping her in that cocoon of safety as her mind buzzed. Nothing could touch her here except him. Not bills or responsibilities, not reality. Only him. Her Master.
    He cupped her sex, rubbing his palm over and over her sensitive nub. He spread the lips of her sex wider, and she fought the urge to close her legs, to keep him out.
    “So pretty,” he whispered. He