He runs into Black Master again.
Suddenly, his weight is against her from behind, and she has to strain to keep from falling forward against the wall. His breath is rasping in her ear, the bristles of his beard pricking the side of her throat, and she can feel the thick shaft of his cock again, now pressed upward, trapped against the cleft of her ass, pulsing there. But where another man, less used to maintaining control, might have rocked his hips, stroking up and down against her ... he barely seems to notice, far more involved in deliberately digging his teeth into the nape of her neck, in the rough rise of his hands from her hips to her breasts, kneading them mercilessly, tugging at each nipple, pinching them almost flat, rolling them cruelly until she can't help but moan, tears rising in her eyes even as now she pushes back against him instinctively, the pressure driving her need to have him inside, whatever the cost.
But she knows better (or because she knows better); any movement he does not instigate induces punishment, and suddenly he has pulled back from her and he is lashing at her again, long deliberate strokes of the crop down her back, over her hips and ass, each stripe causing her whole body to shake, and she knows lines of welts must be appearing against her skin, knows he will be looking on them and smiling, not because he enjoys the cruelty but because he himself is expert enough at his side of their arrangement that even the necessity of chastisement becomes a work of art - the rise of blood to the surface caused so skilfully that with only a few strokes he can leave marks that she will feel again the next day when reaching up to a high shelf and wince again. It takes almost no time for him to administer the lashes - and like sedation slowly wearing off after surgery, it is only slowly that the true depth of the pain seeps into her consciousness, causing her knees to tremble and her heart to race.
He reaches out again, his touch now tender, and if he is touching skin too sensitive to be stroked he is as careful as possible, not necessarily attempting to soothe her ache but at least gentle with it, caressing her as one might a frightened foal - but possessive all the same, taking pleasure in the shudder of her hips, the almost imperceptible bow of her back beneath the pressure of his hand, the half-hidden whine from the base of her throat as he squeezes her ravaged nipples again ... and now, the pressure of his hands between her thighs, spreading them further apart, and the rough touch of his fingertips as he spread her labia apart and slid not one but two fingers deep into the grip of her cunt, almost impersonally testing her depth and her wetness, the knuckle of his ring finger brushing accidentally against her clitoris, causing a tingle of pleasure even as he spread her a bit too far open and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from groaning. Even as the sensations battled inside her, she tried to focus on her posture and her stillness lest she earn another session with the crop.
The fingers were withdrawn, and moments later were pressed forcefully between her lips, catching her tongue, tasting of her own arousal - almost so hard as to gag her. And at the same moment she felt him in place, the thick blunt head of his maleness catching against the entrance to her sex and even as his presence registered he thrust in deep, so hard she was lifted fully off the ground before crashing back down, feet flat then back in position, bracing herself as best she could, still lapping at his fingers as if they were his tongue in her mouth. She moaned then - she couldn't help herself - and as he thrust powerfully into her again he bit the nape of her neck, digging his teeth in until she felt completely trapped, impaled on his cock at one end of her torso and locked in his jaws at the other.
His breathing was ragged and she felt him