My Kingdom for a Corner by Melinda Barron Read Free Book Online Page B

another two to put her nose in the corner, the dry wall cold against her skin.
    When she was in place, she felt a huge sense of accomplishment, as if she’d managed to climb the highest mountain in the world without benefit of oxygen. Interestingly enough, it felt oddly liberating to be in this position. She’d thought it would bring extreme anger, but instead it brought a sense of satisfaction that she’d managed to follow his instructions.
    “Give me a gold star,” she said, almost falling backward when he said, “Silver. You have to work your way up to gold, but I’m very impressed that you did as I asked.”
    I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off. “Thank you, Mr. Oliver.”
    “You’re welcome. Where are your words?”
    “On the table.” She heard his boots click on the wooden floor as he walked, but she didn’t turn around to watch.
    “Let’s see, humiliating, anger, fascination.” There was a pause before he said, “Interesting choices. Explain the meaning, please.”
    Find a dictionary, asshat…I won’t smart off, I won’t smart off. I won’t smart off. “I was humiliated at the thought of kneeling in a corner, angered with myself for getting into the situation, and then sort of fascinated by this room, and the items inside it.”
    “Not fascinated with how they might make you feel?”
    That too, but I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you. “Not really.”
    “Liar. You’re like an open book to me, missy, and I’m going to read you from end to end. Turn around and come to me, on your knees.”
    Francesca fought back the urge to say, “You trying doing that with no hands.” Then she remembered her pledge to herself. She backed away from the corner, then turned and looked for him. He’s sat down in what she’d thought of earlier as a throne. It had a high back and thick, wooden arms. The seat, she’d noticed, was adorned with a velvet cushion. She watched as he threw one leg over an arm, and undid his pants, taking out his very hard cock.
    “Hungry?”
    Damn straight she was. It had been years since she’d sucked a dick. Even the lovers she’d had since becoming a Domme had not had the pleasure of her mouth. She moved across the floor in record time, lowering her head to his lap as she arrived. When he grasped her hair and kept her from taking him in her mouth, she growled in frustration.
    “Ask nicely.”
    “What?” She tried to get away from his grasp, but he held her close. “You asked if I was hungry.”
    “But I didn’t give you permission to eat. Ask. Nicely.”
    No, no, no! She swallowed hard. “Please, Mr. Oliver, may I suck your prick?”
    “No.” She stiffened at his response. “But you may lick it.”
    “So you’re going to tease me, is that it?”
    Anger clouded his features, and Francesca knew she’d screwed up—again. She would have whipped a sub’s ass for that remark.
    “You may lick, or you may go back to your corner. It’s your choice.”
    Francesca battled with herself once again before she said, “I will lick, Mr. Oliver. For—forg—forgive my impudence.”
    “Forgiven, now put your tongue to good use.” He had his hand on the base, as if he were offering her a piece of candy, and that’s exactly as she treated it. Her tongue moved up and down the length of him, and when a drop of moisture appeared at his opening she took it greedily, the salty maleness of him making her want even more. She wanted to suck, to take him as deeply as possible, to have him give her that sweet offering at the end.
    Her pussy throbbed as she worked, and there was a part of her that thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t let her suck him. Instead he might fuck her, as he had the first night they’d met, driving her insane with lust and letting her come, something she needed very desperately.
    “Enough.” His rough command drew her to a halt. Her chest heaved as she placed her head on his thigh.
    “Please, Sir, may I suck.”
    “I said