Club Mephisto by Annabel Joseph

she burst into tears of frustration. Not because she'd missed another orgasm—she was resigned to that torture, as much as it plagued her. No, it was because she'd almost given up that time. She had been mere seconds from just allowing herself to come after all these many days of denying herself for him.
    To come at this point, before he allowed it, would crush her completely, not to mention disappoint him beyond bearing. Perhaps there was something in her miserable crying that moved him, or alerted him to the fact that she could not be would up further, because he switched off the evil silver vibrator. She felt the whisper of his breath across her ass as he blew out the candle. The tension of stress left her body in inching degrees, so she felt for the first time the scratchiness of the linen square underneath her, and the softer feel of his sheets beneath her cheek. They smelled of him. With the panic and tension gone, her senses came alive. And still, the arousal remained, a nagging weight in her pelvis. An empty, excruciating longing not to be fulfilled.
    He backed away, undoing the cuffs at her ankles. Then he was back, the bed dipping behind her. He lifted her legs, sliding his knees beneath them. He grasped her hips and she felt the press of his cock against her aching pussy. He stretched her open, touching her deep inside, filling her to the hilt. The candle still invaded her ass with its persistent sting, a sensation made more noticeable as his cock rubbed against it through the walls of her channels. It was an odd, overwhelming sensation, more provocative then pleasurable.
    As he fucked her, he manipulated the candle, working it in and out, up and back, all to the soundtrack of her whimpers, moans, and guttural lust sounds. When at last he came, she was aroused but not frantic, and so she was able to enjoy the feeling of his cock pulsing inside her. She was able to hear his jerky breaths and the low moan in his throat, rather than her own internal monologue of need. She absorbed his heightened final thrusts with a different kind of satisfaction—that of a slave who has denied her own desires and wishes in service to her Master.
    Afterward, he stayed in her a long while, still toying with the candle and lazily stroking her back. Now and again he peeled and flicked pieces of wax off her. She took each touch, each pang of fleeting arousal, as another gift of her slavehood . She could tell by the tenderness of his fingers that he was pleased. Finally he stood to discard his condom and free her of the candle's intrusion. He removed the cloth and took her to the bathroom to clean up. He peeled the remaining wax off himself with deft fingers. She fought against feelings of love and affection for him, but when he was so tender and gentle...
    When he was satisfied that she was cleaned up to his specifications, he took her hands in his and kissed each one. His eyes gazed into hers with a strange intensity of feeling. "I'm very proud of you, kitten."
    She swallowed, flushing, feeling suddenly close to tears. She wanted to say that it was all his doing...that he had taught her, explained it all to her, and that it finally made sense. Even if it was terribly difficult. I am so happy to please you. I'm so happy you patiently instructed me how to do so.  
    He led her back to the bedroom and detached the cuffs from the bed, putting them back on her wrists. Then he clipped them with another length of chain through the ring in her collar so she couldn't lower them even to her waist. "I trust you more now," he said. "But sometimes in sleep even the best slaves forget."
    She expected to be led to the cage but he pointed to his bed. She complied, trying not to reveal her surprise or the flutter in her chest. When he climbed in beside her and pulled her back against him, she settled into his embrace of evident approval, supremely content. His warmth and power was like a bastion around her, and she knew she would do anything, give up