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Quest for the Dragon's Eye Gem.

She wasn't just wet, she was flooding, soaking the bed. She glanced over at Jim, so stiff, so male, so obedient. She panted, "Don't you . . don't you wish this was . . you?"

His whisper was soft and desperate. "Yes."

She risked it, put the tip of the vibrator right on her clitoris, making circles. "But," she panted, "it's not, is it?"

His reply was equally desperate. "Nm, Mstrss."

She squirmed and moaned, probably a little louder than she needed to, because she felt like it, because she was making her peace with his pain, with his denial, with his need, and her own. "Why," she panted, "why are you . . . in that corner . . . instead of fucking me?"

He whimpered; she could hear it. "Becm, ym pt mm hm, Mmstrss."

He wanted her. Wanting her was becoming an every day hum in his body, no longer a special event, but a normal intense background. He forced his mind away from imagining her body, all limber and female, her smooth, soft skin stretched out before him. The metal cage around his cock controlled him, re-purposed his mind elsewhere, not on sex, not on her beautiful body, but anyplace that wouldn't arouse him. Pain had enormous power to change one's thoughts, he realized, even when it was a small nagging pinch.

His mind had found other places to go, places that startled him. He thought about her, her thoughts, her desires, what she needed, what she wanted. He thought about her happiness. Inevitably, because he was a man with male hormones and a man's needs, he couldn't stop his brain from turning back to serving her. That need had deepened in an alarming way over the last few months.

Had she done that on purpose? Was he now being the man she wanted him to be? He had no complaints. It was hard to feel you were missing out on life when you came home and saw the smile and blush of love in her eyes. That filled him in a way nothing else in his life had and reinforced his deep, unabiding desire to give her whatever she wanted. It also reinforced his desire to do whatever she said, which was the more insidious and exciting of the two.

She laughed and watched his body sag. Even to her own ears, it sounded . . . unsympathetic. No, she decided, it sounded cruel. "Are you my good boy?"

Hopeful now. "Ym, Mstrss."

She felt herself twitch with pleasure, feeling a new wave of erotic tension building. She hummed, purred, caught her breath and ordered him. "Come here."

He scrambled, the metal of his cock cage biting into the flesh of his cock. It was instant erection when he saw her, laid back in bed, propped up by pillows, legs wide open. He moaned with pain and desire the moment he laid eyes on the gleaming moisture coating her swollen lips. The words, "I can't stand this" ran through his head. It was too much. She was too sexy.

He knelt and was ashamed of the very real whimper that left him. He could feel the tension on his face. There was pain in his eyes. The pain of his cock trapped and squeezed by metal and the pain of excruciating, unending desire.

She removed the wad of panties from his mouth. "Yes?"

He nearly cried. "Please, Mistress."

She prolonged it until he was sure he would go mad, running her hands through his hair, combing it with her fingers, feeling lazy and drunk and sexy. How could she not feel like a supermodel when she saw that look his eyes? How could she not feel like a porn queen? A Goddess? It was the look of a man with utter sincerity. It was the look that said, "I will do anything you ask if you'll only let me touch you."

"What do you want, Slave Boy?" She grinned, let out a little giggle.

The thoughts ran through his head: I want to touch you; I want to fuck you; I want to devour you; I want to be devoured by you. So many choices. He opened his mouth and let the first words that popped into his mind come flowing out his lips. "I want to please you, Mistress."

She laid back and moaned. "But it's not about what you want, is it?"

The tension in his face increased.

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