She cried around the gag, nearly spent, almost at the breaking point that might send her into insanity if he didn’t stop soon. He set the cane on the tray and went to the medical bag with the salve. She whimpered as he rubbed the cooling cream into her skin.

He tried not to go this intense every day, certainly not across the same expanse of flesh. Sometimes he was softer with her, more gentle. Some nights it was about humiliation, devising ways to make her uncomfortable for the sheer joy of watching her obediently carry out his demands. He’d used toys of every stripe: vibrators and dildos and anal plugs, gaining great amusement when he made her wear a plug for hours during the day. He’d enjoyed watching the blush come over her face when she’d encountered Demetri or another member of the household staff, afraid someone might realize there was a smooth, lubricated piece of glass being held between her cheeks.

He had slowly moved up in the size of the plug… preparing her body for a use he knew she was smart enough to know was coming. Each time he went up a size he could feel the anticipation that hummed around her as she closed her eyes and took slow, even breaths. Each time the toy inched in, an expression of pleasure lit her face.

He’d been shocked by her pleasure. Not every woman reacted to it like that.

And yet, he’d held back. He had to be sure he wouldn’t damage her physically or emotionally when he did it. Since the night he’d had to atone for, the night he couldn’t think about too long, or give the ugly name to that he knew the event deserved, he hadn’t penetrated her in the normal way. He wouldn’t fuck her until she begged him for it, and so far, she hadn’t. He’d contented himself during that time with the use of her mouth and her tiny hand wrapped around him, jerking him off when he demanded she join him in the shower.

Some days he tied her up and tortured her in other ways—with teasing and orgasm denial. Sometimes he used the clamps on her nipples and on her labia, adding small weights until she couldn’t take it anymore. She’d obeyed him in everything, her body slowly becoming as confused as he’d known it would until her nerve endings responded to his cues instead of those coming from her own brain.

He slipped a finger inside her to find the wetness he’d known would be there. He doubted she would ever be a true masochist, but the desire to please him had transmuted into physical arousal like lead into gold.

He had thought the catalyst for her body’s full capitulation would be more physical pleasure, but desire was desire, and her need for his approval had moved between her legs to express itself in the way she knew would gratify him most. It was more sweet than if he’d only plied her with pleasure.