With her palm still against him, he opened his pants and she took him in hand, nearly moaning from the sheer pleasure of his skin on her skin. He pushed his hips into her grasp and she stroked him from base to tip, tip to base, back again and again. A month apart, choking her with the belt…it was a miracle he wasn’t inside her already, a miracle she hadn’t begged for it either.

His hands came to her shoulders, and he pressed her down to the rug on the floor. She knelt there, trapped between him and the bed. When he nudged her mouth with the tip of his cock, she opened wide to take it into her throat. In the small space between his hips and the bed, she could barely move her head an inch. No matter. She didn’t have to. He slipped his hands into her hair and held her while he moved in and out of her mouth.

Nora moaned in pleasure. She had missed this…the taste of him, the scent of him, the sheer force of him. While sucking him, she slid her hands up his thighs and to his stomach where she caressed him under his shirt. Caressed and then scratched him with her fingernails, digging in, not afraid to hurt him. Taking such a liberty was a risk and one sure to be punished. But the punishment was even sweeter than the crime. He grabbed her wrists once more and held them locked together behind her head. This was brutal mouth fucking. He even lifted his knee and rested it on the mattress by her head, imprisoning her in that tiny space between him and the bed.

Søren was a man of uncommon desires. Nothing aroused him more than inflicting pain on a willing victim. The chronology was usually linear—pain first, arousal after, sex as the finale. But in his more sadistic moods he managed to combine the three into one. If the sex was rough enough to cause her pain, it would fuel his arousal. She might be trapped while he fucked her mouth all night.

Nora heard him inhale sharply and while it was a small sound, to her it was more erotic than another man’s loud moaning, and she would have smiled if her mouth weren’t otherwise occupied. There was nothing like the triumph of making a man like Søren lose control, if only for the space of one gasp, one groan.

He pulled out of her mouth so quickly she nearly fell forward on the floor. She caught herself with her hands and sat there, waiting and obedient, her hair falling into her face. He stood at her side and twined one hand into her hair again, lifting her gently by the long locks and bringing her to rest her cheek against his thigh.

This was bliss. She was his again, his slave and his servant and his slut. Her lips were already swollen, her throat raw, her knees aching.