“You want me to keep you at gold through the entire painting?”

  He nods twice, dark hair flopping every which way, affirming what I feared.

  This is going to be a long, pleasurable, soul-altering night.

  It’s moments like this I wish I didn’t need him as much as I do.

  If I don’t break down by the end of the session, it’ll be a miracle. Hurting him like he wants, not only wears me out physically, it rips open my chest cavity for him to see the soft gooey parts inside. A place I protect for my own peace of mind.

  Resolving myself to the unknown, I reply, “If gold is the level you want, I’ll get you there.”

  Tyler bows his head in gratitude, a happy smirk hooking the corner of his full mouth. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  “You’re most welcome.” I return a bright smile, willing my heart not to beat itself out of my chest. I cannot believe I agreed to this. The last time we reached gold, I held him for hours, stroking his sweaty hair, as he shuddered through the aftermath of climax. That night he’d been allowed a single orgasm. He was a trooper through all that I put him through. Tonight, with his spend already coating my front, I’ll need to decide how many more climaxes he’ll be permitted to have. Possibly none, since he already broke a cardinal rule.

  “I love you.” Tyler blushes tomato red at his admission, one that neither of us takes lightly.

  “I love you way more. Now walk your sexy ass to the cross. It’s time to punish you for coming without permission.”

  “Yes, Mistress. Thank you for my punishment.”

  I snort at his politeness.

  Damn masochists, always so darn eager.

  It’s time for the main course.

  3

  ________

  COLORS OF SUBMISSION

  Spread eagle, back to me, tied to the St. Andrew’s Cross, Tyler’s sweat glistens beneath the overhead spotlight. Manson’s This is the New Shit pounds through the speakers as the sharp crack of my bullwhip slashes across my lover’s shoulders. His calves flex on impact, cheeks clenching tight. A moan resonates loud and husky, making me squirm. That’s it, baby. That’s what I love to hear. Tyler’s coming apart, and we’ve barely gotten started. Angry red slash marks bloom in crisscross patterns up and down his backside, six to be exact. Each one cruel-looking to a novice eye. Blood bubbles to the surface, hovering just beneath the skin. In traditional play with paddles, floggers, canes, and whips, you start off slow to build your sub’s tolerance. The deep-rooted masochist inside Tyler needs way more than that. He craves the immediate agony. The sweet relief that excruciating pain can bring him. We never follow typical constructs in our sessions. Edge-play, not to be confused with edging, doesn’t follow those guidelines. It teeters on the edge of insanity and enlightenment. Bullwhips aren’t for the faint of heart or those without proper training. I worked three years as a dungeon house Mistress, four days a week, before I opened my own practice. I was taught by some of the best Doms in the world on how to wield the tools of my trade. In simple terms, this isn’t for beginners, ladies and gents. You’re not a cowgirl, don’t act like one.

  Allowing Tyler’s pain to smolder, I return to my wall of toys and exchange the bullwhip for a hefty flogger. Then I move down to my special area. Tapping my chin, humming to myself, I contemplate which colorful plug I should use on him tonight. My assistant sets Tyler’s personal plugs and dildos on the display shelves before our sessions. She does the same with the rest of my clientele in their respective rooms. I don’t like toys to be hidden away. Seeing what might be used on you can be fun—a tease. The five to pick from vary in style, size, and shape. From your standard beginner's taper that’s barely more than a finger tickling your inner walls. To a thick anal-beaded progression. A hallow-cored mid-grade dilator that can be a lot of fun if you want to use a vibe at the same time. Or, my personal favorite, the ultimate prostate milker: it’s curved, solid stainless steel, four inches at its widest, and rocks Tyler’s world. Because I can, I pluck it off the shelf and return to my writhing man, whose chorus of moans make me wanna ride his dick until we’re both spent. In due time.

  Tossing the flogger to the floor, I approach my masochist, spread his cheeks, and without further ado, insert the head of the massager up his rectum. Tyler’s sweat-soaked head falls back, a choked moan rattles in his throat through the resistant slide. He presses his ass out, knowing what toy this is, wanting it all. I give him another inch, and his restraints begin to rattle. Another nudge and Tyler’s wailing. To heighten his arousal, I drag a nail across one of his slash marks. The decibel of his raspy cry echoes off the walls, body flailing beautifully. It’s a good thing my cross is bolted down, or he’d come crashing to the floor.

  I press in further until I’m halfway inside his slick passage.

  “Mistress!” Tyler sings, breaking our unspoken rule of no language when in session. But he can’t fully sign. Not tied like this. I’ll forgive his indiscretion this once. It’s not like he can help it.

  To test where Tyler’s flying inside that brilliant mind of his, I triple tap his hip—our universal sign to tell me what color he’s at.

  “G,” he forms with his shaky right hand, indicating green.

  Perfect. We’re halfway there.

  I draw another nail down an angry, red mark, and insert the steel another inch.

  Sweat cascades down Tyler’s flushed cheeks, his chest rising and falling through laden breaths.

  Smiling wickedly, I fuck into his hole, implanting to the hilt, then twist the base to settle it on his prostate. Tyler groans, thighs quaking under the strain of pleasure. If he’s not careful, this toy will make him come. He’s far too gone already, but he knows better than that. To reward him for his control, I slip a finger between the seam of my crotchless panties and into the wetness that conjures there. Swirling my fingertip around my entrance, I bite back a moan that he can’t hear anyhow. Damn, I wanna come. I wanna come so hard. Why does Tyler have to be so perfect? Oh, the naughty, depraved things I want to do to him. Fuck him, spank him, turn him into a quivering mess at my feet. To make him lick me until I explode all over his cunt sucking lips.

  Shit.

  I need to chill before I lose it.

  To calm my lecherous inner beast, I rest my forehead on Tyler’s damp shoulder to balance my breathing. It does little to fix the sordid details flashing through my mind of him splayed before me, begging for touch, for my marks. I squeeze my thighs together, trapping my hand in the growing wetness. His masculine scent invades my nostrils, his fragmented moans shooting straight to my groin. My gums ache to make him feel me for days.

  Ejecting a frustrated breath, I throw caution to the wind and sink my teeth into sweet flesh. Tyler moans. I moan louder, tasting the salt brine of him beneath my tongue. Damn him. Damn temptation. Damn lack of control! In for a penny, in for a pound, I widen my stance and finger my pussy because it’s impossible not to. I need him too much.

  On delicious repeat, I drive a single digit in and out of my slick walls, tormenting my achy g-spot, bringing myself higher and higher until the brink of no return is imminent. Sweat beads on my brow. Breasts rise and fall with the urge to climax. Thighs tense. Toes flex. But I can’t come. Not yet. I don’t deserve it any more than he does.

  Expelling a sigh of regret, I yank my hand away, unlatch my teeth, step to the side like a poised Mistress who isn’t about to lose her composure and lift my well-used finger to Tyler’s parted lips. Because he’s a good sub who deserves better from me, I paint my essence across the cupid’s bow and puffy bottom lip. His tongue flicks out, tasting me there. I watch his eyelids flutter their appreciation as a pool of pre-cum grows on the floor between his thighs, thanks to the leash pointing his crown there.

  I kiss the cap of his shoulder.

  Tyler looks at me out of the corner of his eye, the small curve at the edge of his lips is a most welcomed, hello, thank you, and I love you, all at once.

  “I love you, too,” I mouth in return, also breaking the unspoken rule. Who cares anymore, I’ve already pleasured myself when I shouldn’t have. Perhaps I could control these urges of mine if we’d play more. Twice a week is barely a flicker of what any of us needs. Maybe more is the answer. More sex. More time. More marks. More love. A gluttony of more to satiate this between us… the three of us.

  I drop a lingering kiss to the same spot, making eye contact with my lover for a long, intense moment before I snap the connection and do what needs to be done.

  Three taps on his hip to confirm.

  “G,” he signs.

  It’s time to bring my man to gold.

  Picking the flogger off the floor, I widen my stance, grip the leather handle not too hard, yet not too soft, and deliver a few practice swings into the air. The leather falls glide beautifully, just as I want. I’ll definitely be sore tomorrow after wielding this. You’d think as much experience as I have, I’d be accustomed to the weight. But it doesn’t work that way. I only bring out the big guns, aka my bison flogger, when I want Tyler to crest silver or gold. The smaller, easier-to-exercise floggers are used for tamer sessions. We’re not going for the slap tonight, we’re going for the punch.

  After I get a good feel for its guided movements, I coil my strength and meet leather to flesh. The thud resonates, a wail of ecstasy follows, weaving together like a golden spun melody. Again, I whip Tyler’s back in precise placement. He lifts onto the balls of his feet, resting his forehead on the pad I installed for moments like this. I unleash a third strike, a fourth, fifth, sixth, and his cries of pure bliss taper off as bright red heat blooms across his toned back. By the tenth, his body begins to sag, and my muscles burn from exertion—a sign that we’re getting where he needs me to take him. By the fifteenth, Tyler’s body goes slack, resting entirely on the slight incline of the cross. His shoulders lift and fall from heavy respirations. Sweat gleams across his entire frame.

  Giving my poor arm a reprieve, I triple tap Tyler’s hip and watch closely at his right hand that forms into a P for purple.

  Two colors to go.

  We’re almost there.

  The flogger has done its duty.

  Kicking my heels to the side because I can’t take them anymore, I toss the flogger on top of them to deal with later. It’s time to be with my floaty sub, to break him in the name of art. Kneeling behind Tyler, I massage his calves that have not been touched, before I unlatch him from the cross and slide his legs together. To get my fill, I rub his thighs and ass as well. Both have been left unscathed, compared to his gloriously marred back.

  Prying his cheeks apart, still resting on my haunches, I lick around the plug, waking up the nerve endings there. Tyler shivers. I call that a victory, considering his state of mind, so I play with him a little more. Paying special attention to his taint that needs kisses, too. By the time I pull away, my tongue is cramping, and he’s soaked in saliva.

  I grab onto Tyler’s hips to help myself up. It’s time to bring him over to the bed. Massaging up his biceps and forearms, loosening them as I go, I unhook his wrists from the shackles, setting him free. Still not moving from his spot, Tyler’s head tips to the side, his cheek smashed to the cushion on the cross. Dazed eyes search for mine. I cup his sweaty cheek.

  “Come with me. To the bed,” I speak aloud, knowing he can read lips.

  Tyler nods once and pries himself off the cross. He’s wobbly getting to his feet at first. Not wanting him to lose his balance, I hook my arm around his waist and escort my sub to the bed, where I bend him over the edge. He goes without protest. Folding in half, his ass high in the air, leash half coiled on the floor, upper body supported by the mattress, I separate his legs how I want them and test their strength by pushing down on his hips. They resist buckling so I know we’re good to go for what I have planned next.

  This is going to be fun.

  Skipping to the toy wall, excited, a smile playing on my face, I grab a cane, my favorite lube off the shelf next to the plugs, and my strap-on with pink cock attachment. Tyler’s going to need this dick all night long to keep him in the zone. Nothing says I love you like your Mistress’s ding-a-ling up your behind. If he’s good, I’ll let him put his inside me, too. Maybe. Probably. Okay, yes. I’ll let him. I desire his pierced thickness as much as he desires my fake rubber one.

  Necessities in hand, I return to the bed and set the cane on the sheets beside my masochist. It’s time to gear up before we get started. Stepping into the black harness, I insert my dildo through the hole and adjust the straps for a snug fit around my waist. Because I love my dick so much, I pump it a few times for good measure. Men do it, so why can’t I? It’s fun. I highly advise all of my lady friends to wear a penis at least once in their life, to understand what it’s like. There’s something powerful about it. Instinctual. Base. Desirable. It’s one of the best sex toys to experience, in my humble opinion. Sure, you don’t get the direct pleasure, but the mental arousal it evokes is akin to climax without the explosive release. It’s a gentler one. One that hums beneath the surface for hours, getting you wet, making you squirm as you watch your partner lose themselves under you, because of you, for you.

  Ready, I retrieve my cane and reach between Tyler’s legs to give him a languid pump that makes him shiver. A dribble of pre-cum wets my palm. I use it to lube my own dick before taking a step back. Just as I did with the flogger, I practice aiming the cane. This isn’t the thick piece of wood your grandma uses to hobble around. We’re talking a thin rattan stick that’s going to bruise and stripe my lover’s ass. It’s one of his favorite toys. As are any of them that leave lasting impressions.

  Adjusting my posture, I raise my arm and in one fluid motion, whoosh through the air, land the cane flush across both cheeks, branding them mine. On impact, Tyler clenches the sheets in his fists and moans broken and desperate for release. I deliver the next slash of pain, and his knees almost buckle. Tear-stained eyes, begging to let him climax stare back at me from the mattress.

  I shake my head.

  He ousts a rickety breath, offering an infinitesimal nod of submission.

  I unleash another stripe.

  His knuckles turn to snow.

  Tears leak onto the sheets.

  His nose reddens.

  Tyler bites his bottom lip, shuddering through the blistering pain and the plug that intensifies the ecstasy that rages there.

  Knowing exactly what he needs, I set free a torrent of pleasure-laced agony on his bottom one mighty blow after the next. Ten full seconds pause between strikes, giving him time to absorb the sharp sensation he craves. By ten his eyes no longer focus. At twenty, his face goes slack, lips parted. Thirty, fingers lose grip on the silk as his knees turn into overcooked noodles. By the time we crest fifty, our max during any scene, the bed is the only thing left supporting his body. His legs have officially failed. Deep bruising has already set in on his butt, and his breathing is oddly serene—the ultimate high. The intense ache in my shoulder means nothing compared to my wrecked sub, lost to his own mind. I relish in it. Smile, even. This is what it means to experience real love. Real trust. To allow your person to shatter your walls until you’re a puddle of nothingness, right where you need to be.

  Stepping behind my lover, tossing the cane to the floor, I trace my fingers down the contours of his back. That’s right. I did that. I created those marks… all of them. They’re beautiful. So beautiful. Tyler barely moves beneath my touch. To some, this would be worrisome. To me, it’s victory. It means that Tyler is swimming in heaven, the safe space inside his head that only he can visit. The place he vacations to draw inspiration from. Where the world outside doesn’t exist, where he can be himself.

  I tap his hip and wait.

  Nothing.

  I tap again, three times.

  “S,” he forms… barely.

  Silver.

  We’re there.

  On the cusp.

  I can taste it.

  Reaching between his cheeks, I remove the plug from his bottom and toss it onto the bed. Holding Tyler’s glutes apart, I watch his dilated hole open and close in search of my love, tempting me to take it. If that’s what he wants, who am I to deny him? Snatching the bottle off the sheets, I lube myself up and drive home, where I belong, inside Tyler. Hips meeting ass, he comes to, his toes finding purchase on the floor to keep him afloat. Drawing a knee up, Tyler crawls onto the bed. I follow suit until I’m left straddling his thighs with my dick buried to the hilt. If only I could feel his heat surrounding it, hugging it, loving it as much as he loves me. It’s moments like this that I wish my cock was real. Not because I want the pleasure it would bring, but the additional connection I would have with Tyler because of it.

  To further our intimacy, I flatten my breasts to his back as my pelvis cradles him. Our fingers interlace above his head, and I draw back. Knowing what Tyler needs next, I bite into the base of his neck at the same moment I fuck his hole. A lethargic moan slips free from my sub. Again, I saw in and out, using our interwoven fingers and hips to propel me, to dig deep, ’cause that’s what’s necessary to achieve gold. For him, I must own his body, mind, and soul for this to work. If it was easy, anyone could do it. But it’s not. A masochist of his caliber is rare, a needle in a million haystacks. And he’s mine to keep.

  My heart batters my breastbone at our closeness. The radiant warmth of Tyler’s back soaks into my front. The thrum of his pulse beats alongside mine. I pepper kisses across the base of his neck, his shoulders and into his hairline. Sweat coats my lips like a balm that I crave more of. Broken noises emit from the deepest recesses of his soul, and tiny tremors wrack his frame. Needing to see more, to feel more, I pull away and flip my lover onto his back. Without any help, I shove his legs up, move the leash to the side, and re-enter his tunnel in one smooth glide, bottoming out.

  Tyler reaches out for me, dazed, wanting me in his arms, needing me there. I comply because I want nothing more than to do just that. Thrusting in short jabs, drawing my pleasure from his, Tyler’s dick folds between us as his legs wrap around my waist. I curve my arms under his shoulders, using them for leverage. Intense heat seeps into my palms there. Lining up, our noses brush, pecs smash to breasts, cleavage spilling over the top of my outfit. Hot puffs of air burst across my lips. I trace my tongue over his cupid’s bow wanting to express how much I love him. Tyler answers my inner yearning with a kiss of his own. It’s slow and sweet as we meld together, bringing tears to my eyes. Unadulterated happiness blooms in my heart.