Master's Submission Read Online Free

how to make a blindfold out of a tie! I didn’t have the characteristics of a good Domme, but Master said my efforts pleased him. My heart soared.
    “It’s a first for me too.” He caressed my cheek. “I’m surrendering to you. I’m yours.”
    The last two words filled me with a heady rush, as if I were drunk on fine champagne. “Thank you, Master.”
    “Call me that again,” he said in a playful tone, “and I’ll put you over my knee and spank you. You’re the Mistress, remember?”
    “Yes, Mas—” I cut myself short. “Dylan.” He thought I was doing well. Yes! Get back into the role, Bethany. Mistress Bethany. Be strict. His steady gaze unnerved me. “When you are in my presence, you are not to look directly into my eyes.”
    “Yes, Mistress.” He stared at my boots instead.
    I paced in front of him, pretending to examine his gorgeous body, but in reality thinking about what to do next. “Take everything off,” I said as authoritatively as possible.
    He started with his shoes and socks. As he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, revealing the cock that throbbed in his briefs, powerful waves of arousal washed through me. My breath hitched in my throat. Usually, I was the one who undressed him, removing every article of clothing slowly and deliciously. Sometimes we rolled on the bed, caught up in our passion for each other, and stripped each other naked in a bout of uncontainable lust.
    Having him take his clothes off in front of me was a heady experience. Dylan stepped out of his pants and dropped them on the floor. Dark hair covered his muscular legs. I longed to touch the inside of his thigh, the curve of his calf, the arch of his foot. Then I licked my lips, waiting for his briefs to come off. He removed them, freeing his cock, which stood at attention. My pussy was wet. I could feel it. In the soft glow of candlelight, he reminded me of a marble statue come to life. Dylan reflected my ideal of what a man should look like. Rugged. Dominant. Sexy. I wanted to touch my clit, but stopped myself.
    Why the self denial? Usually, Master prevented me from pleasuring myself. He wanted me to orgasm on his terms. But this wasn’t my Master. This was Dylan, my submissive. And a Mistress could stroke her clit whenever she damn well pleased. Earlier, I was too nervous to be aroused, but now, the pent-up lust broke free. Through the Lycra fabric, my fingers pressed against my nub in circular motions, and I moaned. It turned him on. Big-time. His eyes were glued to my pussy.
    If I didn’t slow down, I’d orgasm within a minute. I lifted my skirt and dipped two fingers into my slit. God, I was soaking.
    “Look at me. Listen. Can you hear how wet I am?” I asked in a throaty whisper, plunging my fingers into my pussy. “Do you want to do this for me? Do you want to put your fingers inside me?”
    “Yes,” he said eagerly and stepped forward.
    “Stop. I didn’t say you could. I asked if you wanted to.” I showed him one glistening finger, slipped it into my mouth, pulled it in and out, in and out, as if sucking his cock. “You’re only allowed to watch.”
    Dylan’s cock, fully erect, beautifully long and thick, begged to be touched. But I’d make him wait, as he always made me wait. Because after being denied for a long period of time, the orgasm was so much more powerful, so much more intense, that my entire body felt as if it was splintering apart. I wanted him to experience that intensity for himself.
    His hand grasped his shaft and began to stroke.
    “No touching,” I ordered. “Or I’ll tie your hands behind your back.”
    He stopped, and pure need registered on his face. Desire lit up his eyes as my fingers returned to my pussy. If I forced him to watch me orgasm, it would drive him mad. Should I?
    Yes, I should. I hiked the skirt up to fully expose my shaved mound. Watch me . Faster and faster, my fingers worked in small circles on my clit.
    Dylan’s chest rose and fell as his