It wasn’t that he was controlling her.
She always knew she could refuse any of his commands. He didn’t have a hypnotic voice, or mysterious glowing eyes that sent her into a mindless trance, or a secret drug that made her helplessly obedient. She didn’t have to submit to him. But she always did.
She could resist, of course. She could always resist. He never punished her for disobeying; she wasn’t even sure if he was capable of it. But every time she thought about refusing him, her mind drifted back to the moment he first touched her. She remembered the slow swirl of insistent pleasure that coursed through her body at the merest brush of his fingers, leading her on to more and deeper surrenders to come.
The pleasure broke her, not his words or his eyes or his will. Every time she tried to resist, her wet pussy pulsed with desire and she was naked for him all over again almost before she knew it. And then he was inside her, his cock sparking wave after wave of orgasmic bliss with each thrust until she was practically insensate with it. He never teased her, he never made her beg or plead or promise to get it, he just fucked her until her brain shut down. And then he fucked her some more.
And she couldn’t resist it. She could never say no to that kind of endless ecstasy, the promise of it held her in thrall as surely as any pendant or spiral ever could. She didn’t even know if he knew how much power he had over her, if he was aware that she would do anything to have his cock inside her again no matter how degrading or shameful. His strange gift made him her Master, though, whether he knew it or not.
And she loved it, she realized as the pleasure crested again, almost too much to bear. She was owned, helpless, and fucked mindless…and she never wanted to stop.
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