The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey Read Online Free Page B

him. The crop moved past his rigid shaft, landing instead on his stomach. “Take in a breath and exhale it slowly.” Owen tried to obey, drawing the air into lungs that felt constricted by his wildly beating heart.
    “That’s better. In…and out. In…and out. Yes.” The flat of the crop struck his nipple again, even harder than before. Owen winced. His balls felt tight and he could feel sweat rolling down his sides. He expelled air in a long, shuddering breath and was suddenly aware his body was shaking.
    Mistress Sylvie set the crop down for a moment and drew her hands softly over Owen’s torso. “Shh,” she murmured as she stroked him, drawing light circles with her fingers over his heated, stinging skin. “You can do this. I know you can.”
    It wasn’t a question and Owen didn’t answer, but he knew she was right. He could do this. Not only that, he wanted to do this. He never wanted it to stop. He felt as if he could stay here forever, bound in leather cuffs, spread eagle against the wall while this beautiful, sexy woman worked her magic on him until time itself stopped.
    Mistress Sylvie dragged the leather tag of the riding crop lightly over his stomach, drawing it in a teasing circle around his raging erection before sliding it up his body. She slapped at his biceps with the crop.
    “You’re strong,” she said. “I like that.” She smacked him harder, the blows like tiny leather bees up and down his arms and along both sides of his body.
    Finally she set the crop down and reached up to unclip Owen’s wrist cuffs. No! he wanted to shout. Don’t stop. Not now. Not ever. But somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut. Had the hour already passed? Could it be possible? He’d have to get ninety minutes next time.
    But instead of telling him to get dressed, she said, “Turn toward the wall and assume the same position against the cross. We’re not done.”
    Owen’s gratitude must have shown in his face, because Mistress Sylvie laughed, shaking her head. “Greedy boy. Go on. Do as you’re told.”
    Owen did, lifting his arms high and allowing himself to be cuffed into place. She knelt behind him, her hair brushing his bare legs as she leaned to cuff his ankles to the base of the cross. Owen’s erect cock was caught between the intersecting midpoint of the cross and his body, pressing hard against his belly. He turned his head so his cheek was resting against the cool wall. He could feel his heart, still beating fast and high in his chest.
    “We’re going to use this for your ass and back.” Mistress Sylvie held up a flogger for Owen to see. The handle was tightly braided in a red and black checkered pattern, the dozen or more tresses hanging from it made of black leather.
    Just looking at the flogger made Owen’s cock go even more rigid, if that was possible. He could see Mistress Sylvie in his peripheral vision. With a flick of her wrist the leather tresses of the flogger made contact with Owen’s ass. He jerked forward, the wood of the cross rubbing against his shaft as he moved.
    She struck again, harder this time. The pain was more diffuse, easier to take than the crop, which landed in such a concentrated area. But to make up for this, she hit him harder, the leather tresses flying, some of the tips curling cruelly around his side, the skin of which was already tender from the crop.
    She flogged his ass, his thighs, his back and his shoulders. With each blow his cock was pressed against the wood and he realized he was inches, seconds, away from shooting his load.
    “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, his hands clenching into fists as he fought the familiar tug in his balls that signaled an impending orgasm. Maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing, or maybe she did, but Mistress Sylvie didn’t stop. If anything, she struck him harder, focusing on his burning ass, forcing his body against the wooden cross with each stroke.
    She struck him again and again, and yet again, a rain of