Prologue

 

Sloan pulled hard against the hand gripping her hair. She was desperately trying to turn her head away, to twist her slender body out of his grasp. It was no use, he was too strong; he would use her in any way he wanted, and what he wanted right now was her soft mouth.

It was better this way, she thought...playing at being forced. It made the act so much more exciting for her, and for him. There was nothing more thrilling sexually than a man in heat holding a naked woman in his arms, forcing himself on her. A certain amount of female resistance was part of the dance.

He felt amazing--hard as steel and throbbing with life. For her, oral sex was the ultimate intimacy, the full expression of her unconditional surrender. She had been taken to be a part of him, connected by a force of nature that defined their species. Their two bodies had become one moving together toward a finale that was unequalled by any human emotion.

It was a mystery to her why some women decried the act, why they felt ashamed, even revolted by it. Nothing could be more wrong-headed. This was pure unadulterated pleasure, every chemical in her body was working overtime to make her feel beautiful and powerful and desired. She cherished the sensation; there was nothing else like it in life. But even more, she loved the way she was able to drive this...this powerful animal to a state of mindless euphoria.

He was in her control; his huge erection was her doing--she had infected his mind with desire and produced this amazing manifestation of his passion. The realization made her shiver with power and she tightened her lips, rubbing her rough tongue hard and long against the underside of his shaft. Incredibly, she could hear him grunting and feel him getting even harder, even bigger.

An early drop of semen flowed out of him onto her tongue. It was delicious, the essence of life, the impossibly sweet nectar from which, by some magic, we were all created. How could this be degrading? It was...life at least the way she defined it.

She pulled uselessly on her thin arms-a natural instinct. She desperately wanted to touch him, to caress him, to express her gratitude more fully. But that was impossible, her wrists were crossed behind and tied with a piece of rope. He wanted her on her knees; frustrated and helpless. She shook her head angrily, pulling on him. She might be in emotional control of his desire, but he was in physical control of her body. He had the ability and the will to...to hurt her.

Suddenly she remembered the crop in his hand and she was afraid...terrified that she wouldn't be pleasing enough. Her anger turned to fear. She knew he would use the rod on her bare ass if he wasn't satisfied. She feared it--the leather popper at the end, intended for the hide of a horse, felt like a branding iron on a woman's soft skin. She squeezed her lips harder, moved faster...pushed deeper.

He was the one who evaluated her performance, she thought, not her. By mutual consent, it was his right to punish her for anything less than sexual perfection. He was the Master here and she was the slave. The role multiplied the effects. There was no justice in it of course, no cosmic balancing of the scales, no fairness, only the inexplicably harsh rules of nature. She had come to grips with this reality long ago and, as much as she hated and feared the pain, she knew it had to be this way to achieve the kind of super-explosion they were after.

Ironically, it was the bondage that set her free, free to apply her maximum effort to making him come. She wasn't responsible for her low acts, for her depraved behavior. He was in charge; he demanded this of her and she had no way to resist bound the way she was. She was a victim, innocent of any wrongdoing, of any disgrace. As such, she was free to put everything she had into the effort, compelled in fact to use whatever extreme methods were needed to bring him to a memorable climax.

She looked up and met his eyes. They were inflamed with passion, red hot with merciless desire. He would do whatever he needed to do to achieve orgasm. It was a look that every woman wanted to see in her man. She had him now!

She slowed then backed off, licking him in a coy way, playing with her newfound power. He was hers now, hers to toy with until SHE was ready to bring him to his peak. It was an amazing turn of events, one that she didn't intend to let pass. Like all women, she had a streak of sadism hidden deep inside. This was her opportunity to...

He tried frantically to push himself back inside; she turned her head to the side like a bullfighter avoiding a horn and licked him carelessly as he passed. His desperation was amusing, entertaining. She smiled and... Suddenly, his hands were on her head holding her steady, driving himself inside, pushing deep, past her uvula. She felt the urge to gag and suppressed it. It had taken her a long time and a lot of pain to learn how to cope with that reflex. Her trainer had been wonderfully ruthless in his application of the cane and she had learned quickly.

Petulantly, she tried to detach herself from what was happening. Her mind wandered back to her training. That had been a wonderful experience, something that she...

Without warning, he flicked the crop hard on her ass cheek. She groaned, vibrating her vocal cords against his member. All other thoughts were instantly driven from her mind. Concentrate...! This kind of man was not to be played with; he demanded her total concentration. He would tolerate nothing but the total effort of her mouth, her tongue, her lips...her mind. He wanted it all totally focused on his pleasure.

Pain...! Pain, she thought fleetingly as her head pumped frantically. Understandably, most people including her went to great lengths to avoid it, but that was a mistake. Pain was the key to pleasure, the magic key that got us past our petty fears; the gateway to real ecstasy. She wasn't a masochist...she hated the anguish, feared it just like any normal person. But she understood its purpose, its enormous potential. It drove her to wildness, it excited her; it made her a complete woman, a sensual being. It was the...

He cropped her hard again and she frantically went under him for his balls, sucking them inside with desperate apology, pleading upward with her eyes. His pleasure...she needed to bring him more pleasure. That was all that counted at this moment. The pain made that crystal clear. There was no mutuality of interest here, no gentle caress, no loving touch, no sweet words--this was about a man's sexual need, an unstoppable demand that she had been created to satisfy, to fulfill.

Of course the ultimate secret was that, although he held the crop, she still had the ultimate power of orgasm. It wasn't the crop as much as it was her own selfish need to come that really drove her behavior. Making him come, bringing him to the edge of blissful insanity was the act that satisfied her own hidden lust. That was his real advantage, not his ropes or his whip. She simply could not achieve the same sexual high herself nor could she do it with a substitute like another woman. She needed him, she needed his living throbbing cock, just as he needed the sheath of her warm body.

Ironically, she had never really felt the total power of the organism she needed so much. For all the cock she had sucked, for all the men she had taken into her vagina, into her ass, she had never really known her most extreme orgasm. It just wasn't something a conscious mind could handle.

But her body remembered; her body told her what it was like, not in words, but in the yearning that inhabited every muscle. She craved it now...all the time...and the craving was growing, driving her towards an even more intense experiences. She was hopelessly addicted.

Which was why, in the beginning, she had revealed her submissive nature. It was the key to the kind of lifestyle that she needed, the kind that enabled her to satisfy the obsession. By subjecting herself to the bondage and the discipline, she could plumb depths of feeling that few women would ever know.

Sloan didn't view this as a weakness. Just the opposite, she considered herself better than most men at almost everything. That knowledge was a comfort in her everyday life, but it was also irrelevant to her fundamental purpose, to her obsessive need--men had the cocks; nature demanded that those cocks enter women in a forceful manner; it rewarded those who achieved this with the most extraordinary sexual experience imaginable. More importantly, nature promised more exquisite pleasure with even deeper, more exquisite penetrations. It, that is life, her life, was just that simple.

She licked his sack one final time and returned contritely to his shaft, ministering to him with the reverence due to its magic. She could hear him moaning, the crop hanging down idle from its wrist strap, forgotten for the moment. Power...! She had the power again. She twisted her head from one side to the other in a wild expression of her sudden ascendency. He was almost there...almost...almost there...

Suddenly she felt the snap of the crop again on her bare backside then again and again and again. Her mind blanked from the white-hot pain and she reverted, reverted to the animal inside all of us. The shuddering unstoppable orgasm thundered from her abdomen to her head to her mouth and precipitated a frantic burst of oral energy that ignited him. He dropped the crop once again and grabbed the back of her head, holding her tight against him as wave after wave of his hot cum flowed into her.

He stayed like this, jerking into her, unaware of his instinctual action for a long time. After a while, he released her and she fell slowly back to lie on the ground, naked, bound, and well-fucked. He stood over her, his legs spread, his cock still hard and extended, like a predator over his prey.

There was something terrible in the moment, something mad and evil in the image, but also something glorious. Sloan glanced up at him--sweating, breathing hard--with an expression of worship on her face. It was the most natural of human acts, the essence of our existence.