Testing the Submissive(32)

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

My eyes watered, I was so happy to hear him say that. Lewis continued:

“When he returns, see if he has any particular fetishes.”

“Yes Master,” I replied.

Master?? I had spoken the word instinctively, without thinking. But before I could retract it, Lewis softly covered my lips with his hand to silence me.

“Shhh,” he said, “I own you now.” He confirmed he was my Master, and I was very much his.

When the Reverend reappeared, Lewis melted into the background again. I in turn directed my attention to my next task – getting the client to reveal a specific fetish. I decided not to blurt out my question. A fetish can be private, and not something readily revealed. Even though the Reverend had just whipped and fucked me, he might be hesitant to disclose something so personal. Instead, I tried a more measured approach:

“I’m glad you’re back, Reverend. I dreamed about this day for several weeks, and I can’t believe you’re actually here, right before me, in the flesh. I want to please you, so badly.”

“You have been pleasing me Abigail. That was the first time I had sex with a woman since my college years, before I entered the church.”

“Am I the first girl you ever dominated?”

“You are,” he said, circling my body like a shark circling its prey. “But you know, since the church defrocked me, technically I’m not longer your Reverend. From this point forward, you might as well call me Simon.”

“Yes Simon Sir, I understand.”

“I’d never once lifted a finger to touch anyone inappropriately, not so much as a word; and yet they disgraced me with dismissal. That’s why I thought ‘what the hell’ when Lewis approached me and told me all about your secret.”

Simon, as odd as it was to think of him by that name, was opening up to me. This was ideal. It would allow me to inquire about his kinks: “In the novels you read, or in the DVDs, was there anything that you found particularly interesting?”

I had chosen my words carefully. By putting my question in the context of the porn material, it was somehow less invasive, and hopefully easier for Simon to be forthcoming with me. Further, I intentionally used the word ‘interesting’ rather than ‘arousing’ to downplay it further.

He hesitated but answered, “One story I found intriguing centered on a Master who left bite marks on his slave.”

“Oh my. I’ve always been incredibly turned on at the prospect of a strong dominant man biting me, sinking his teeth into my flesh; I’ve even masturbated to the fantasy of it.”

“You have, really?”

“Yes. Very much so. Oh, please Simon Sir, please bite me. I’d love it if you did. Please bite me anywhere you choose.”

He moved behind me. Then reached around my body and took hold of my breasts, still very tender from the lashing they had just received. I could feel his cock against my lower back and ass as he leaned into me. He was getting hard again. His strong fingers now squeezed deeper into my breasts. I felt his warm breath on my shoulder and knew exactly where he was contemplating sinking his teeth. All he needed was a tiny bit more encouragement:

“Fuck, yes. I beg of you….bite me, bite my shoulder, I want to feel the pain of your teeth digging into me. Bite me as hard as you want.”

He bit down into my shoulder, sending shivers through my spine, just as his hands mauled my breasts. The pain engulfed me. He let up on the bite for a few seconds, and then I gasped as he bit down a second time, even harder! My skin didn’t break, but his teeth indentations were clearly visible when he moved two inches further down. Then he clamped down again. He was enjoying this. His cock was now rock hard at my back. His hands continued pulling at my tits, with his fingertips digging even deeper.

I wanted to tell him to stop. Other clients had bitten me, but primarily during sex. This was different. This was deliberate, methodical biting. He was working his way down my shoulder, the same way people work their way down a cob of corn. I wanted to ask him to stop, but instead I found myself saying something entirely contrary:

“Bite the hell out of me.”

When he finally reached the end of my shoulder, he paused. I took the moment to catch my breath. I prayed, funnily enough, that he was content. The Reverend released my breasts, and shuffled back to the front of me. He was smiling. There was a little dribble of saliva running down his lip, to his chin. I don’t know why I said what I said.

“Do my tits.”

In a way, I was glad to be bound on a St. Andrew’s cross. Otherwise, I fear I might have pushed him away when I felt those sharp teeth bite into me. That said, I almost pulled my arms out of their sockets it hurt so bad. He nipped at my tits, and especially my nipples. Meanwhile, I was biting my own lip, using all my energy to stifle my cries.