Declaration to Submit by Jennifer Leeland Read Free Book Online Page A

the hem of her dress, she arched closer, the contrast overwhelming every conscious thought. It burned. It throbbed. And yet her pussy dripped with excitement from it.
    “Five more, Anelda.” He removed his hands from her agonized flesh and lifted the paddle again. The next blow forced her face into the couch. She smelled the musky scent from where he’d slept the night before. It was more intoxicating than the tequila that had driven her to this room in the first place.
    “Six,” she said. Her voice cracked. His next two strikes were quick and hard. “Seven, eight.” She squirmed and twisted as fire spread over her ass. Her hands curled into fists. He struck her the last two times, and the pain, once unbearable, was gone, replaced by something else, something that burned just as hot. “Nine, ten.”
    She trembled, irrevocable words hovering on her lips. He bent down, his bare hand on her skin, his cock hard against her hip. “Your pussy is wet, Anelda. Do you want to come?”
    She cried out when his fingers flicked her clit, and she arched closer to his hand. “Yes! Please. Please.”
    “This is punishment, Anelda. You will not come without my permission. Is that correct?” He squeezed her left buttock, and she hissed from the pain. It still stung and throbbed.
    She nodded quickly, but that apparently was the wrong thing to do. He slapped her ass sharply, and she yelped. “Yes, Sir. That’s correct. I won’t come unless you give me permission.”
    The relief was crazy. Why would she suddenly feel so light, so free? Every muscle relaxed as if he’d just poured warm water over her skin. She melted into the couch, her mind drifting. No, she would only do whatever he wanted her to do.
    All her life, she’d had to manage her employers, her family, her friends to keep them on the right path to whatever fulfillment they were trying to achieve. Her own satisfaction was in serving them, or so she told herself. But even as she took care of the business of other people’s lives, finances, and dreams, she never felt a part of them.
    Mark Connors was focused on her and only on her. He’d profiled her, studied her, somehow discovered this twisted part inside her that needed to be given permission to exist. It was the most real she’d ever felt. And the most vulnerable. How the hell could she explain it to anyone else?
    She was making more of this than what it really was. It was just kinky sex. That was all.
    “I see it didn’t take long for you to go back in your head,” he snapped.
    Cold metal slid around her wrists as he cuffed her. He gripped her elbow and pulled her to her feet. He turned her and pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit on the couch. Her ass was on fire, and the pressure from the cushions made her skin sting. She started to squeeze her knees together to maintain her modesty, but Mark placed his feet between hers.
    “Spread your legs.”
    The order should have offended her, maybe even frightened her, but she dropped her knees apart and bowed her head. She could feel the burning on her cheeks from the humiliation. No underwear and her legs spread, her dripping pussy was open to his gaze.
    “Your cunt is beautiful,” he said in a quiet, calm voice.
    She moaned as the desire to arch, to stretch, to rub against her clit almost swamped her good sense. Somehow, she knew if she wiggled at all, he would punish her again. She bit her lip and shifted slightly, enough to feel the rough material from the couch against her bare thigh.
    So intent on the sensations that bombarded her, she missed when he moved to the coffee table and obtained another toy. Sudden pressure at her pussy’s entrance made her gasp. He slid her dress up to her waist, and she stared down at the silicon dildo glistening with lube. It was huge, bigger than her forearm. She’d never had anything that big inside her before. “Mark. Sir.”
    His gaze met hers. The molten-hot expression in his almost black eyes and the strain