Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I applied a little lube to the bulb too, then pressed it between his ass cheeks and told him to breathe out and bear down. The curved metal was about half as thick as my cock, but the ball at the tip was larger.
He sucked in a breath, only to exhale and push back against the intrusion.
“I thought we could discuss composure,” I told him. “I know you said you’re not a masochist, but you also said you want to be challenged and suffer for your Master.” I watched the metal bulb disappear inside him, and it was nearly impossible not to get hard. “That’s its own brand of masochism, sweetheart. One I can’t wait to demonstrate in front of an audience.”
The hook was the perfect size for him. With the curve buried inside his ass, the longer part of the hook rested on his lower back.
“So that means I won’t use a flogger on you,” I went on, grabbing the collar. “It means I’ll sign us up to host a figging demo next month, and your challenge lies in composure. In not making a single face when I fuck your pretty little asshole with a piece of ginger root. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
His soft laugh was a little strained. “Anything for you, Master. I’ll leave it at that.”
I grinned.
“No, but…I understand what you mean—oh God.” He gasped when I couldn’t help myself and twisted the hook inside him. “That’s—that’s definitely a challenge I will strive to achieve.”
I had a feeling I would become obnoxious with pride for this man. I could picture myself walking around at events thinking I had the most perfect slave of all. Like most Masters did, I presumed. Like Lucian did with Cameron.
“Good. And on that note, don’t touch the ginger in the fridge door,” I said. Then I stood up and hitched a leg on the other side of him to attach the collar. “The best ginger for figging is at least a month old so that the oils are potent enough. We wanna make sure it burns properly.”
“Whatever you say, Master. God forbid it only stung a little bit.”
I laughed under my breath, loving his cheeky side. Much like brats, he seemed to have a natural knack for knowing when it was okay to throw some fun attitude in there.
The final touch was the spreader bar. Using chain links, I attached one end to the collar and the other to the tip of the anal hook, effectively locking him into position. If he bowed his head, he’d bury the hook deeper.
“I foresee a lot of demos where we can challenge brats together,” I mentioned. “They’re usually a competitive bunch, and if they see me exposing you to something painful—and you barely move a muscle—they’ll think it’s a walk in the park.”
“That’s diabolical, Master.”
“I can be diabolical.” Satisfied with my work, I sat down in my chair again and propped my legs across his spine. He yelped and accidentally lifted his back, which tugged at both the collar and the anal hook. “A footstool isn’t supposed to move, slave.”
“Sorry, Sir,” he groaned. “I’ll be still now.”
Great timing for Buddy and little Monster to mosey over to sniff around. Buddy must’ve thought Archie was ready to play. The big oaf licked Archie’s cheek and planted a big paw on his shoulder, whereas Monster’s tiny nose probably tickled Archie’s legs and arms.
It made me smirk. It gave me some ideas too. “Remember I’m taking in a new rescue pup next week?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He’s five weeks old. Way too young to be without his mother,” I murmured. A mother who had unfortunately died shortly after birth, leaving seven Labrador puppies alone at a local veterinarian’s office. “He won’t be housebroken for quite some time.”
Archie let out a long breath. “You know, I’m standing here on all fours, feeling so bad for that little thing, but you’re leading up to something utterly sadistic. Admit it.”
I smiled and crossed my legs at the ankles. “Don’t give me orders, pet.”
But yeah, he was correct.
“I’m just saying,” I continued, “if I decide to use you as a footstool and that rascal comes up and pees on your leg, you’re not allowed to move.”
“There we go,” he whispered. “You know how unnatural it is for a dog to pee on a human being, Master. You’re only messing with my head.”
I let out a laugh. Fair enough, I guessed it would take more skill to fuck with him.
Buddy and Monster lost interest and headed down the porch steps to join the others on the lawn.
Leaning back in my seat properly, I got more comfortable and snatched a couple blackberries from the bowl on the table. Archie had dug around the bushes in the backyard to collect the last of my modest harvest.
If everything went according to my plan, next year would be better. Maybe I’d be bold enough to call everyone family—that we were all family—and Archie could help me in the vegetable garden.