Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
He disappeared from my view for a moment, and panic seized my insides. What he held when he returned did nothing to reassure me: a whip with braided leather tails.
“This is called a mastix,” he explained. “It is the disciplinary implement that symbolizes, above all, a guardsman’s authority.”
He let the words and the sight of the mastix sink in for a moment, holding it out to me. Then he gripped the whip’s leather-covered handle in his right hand and took his jutting manhood in his left.
“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice seeming to mix solemnity and lust in its depth and force. “I’m going to begin by consecrating you there, columba.”
As I complied, my heart pounding and my pussy clenching in response to his order, Marcus reached the mastix out and let its braids dangle down my back. At the sheer sensuality of the touch, its implications of mercy and tenderness alongside discipline and pain, a keening sound emerged from my throat and out the lips I held as wide open as I could for my miles’ enjoyment. I stuck my tongue out, curling it over my bottom teeth, and I looked up into Marcus’ gorgeous eyes with an expression that I knew must convey utter desperation and submission: a need for my master’s hardness and my master’s control.
Tame me… civilize me… claim me…
Use me. Use me to make your cock feel good.
Marcus’ eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at me, his rigid cock mere inches from my waiting mouth. With deliberate slowness, he pressed forward, allowing the head to rest on my tongue. I whimpered, desperate to take him in, but held myself still, waiting for his command.
“Bene, columba,” he murmured, his free hand coming to rest on my head. “So obedient. So eager to please.”
Without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself fully in my mouth. I gagged reflexively, tears springing to my eyes as I struggled to accommodate his enormous girth. Marcus held himself there for a long moment, his fingers tightening in my hair.
“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, his voice tight with restrained passion. “Relax your throat. That’s it, columba. Take all of me. You will learn.”
I focused on his words, forcing my body to obey. He had said You will learn in a tone so solemn, I knew it must represent part of the ritual. Gradually, the feeling of suffocation eased, and I felt a surge of pride at being able to please him this way.
“Eyes down,” he instructed. “Show your submission.”
I obeyed, cheeks burning, and my whole world became my miles’ powerful naked lap. His wiry curls brushed my nose. I felt utterly degraded and thus completely honored, by my master’s use.
Marcus began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had me struggling for air with each thrust. At the same time, the braids of the mastix left my back, and I sensed Marcus’ arm rising. Then I cried out around his massive cock as I felt the first lash descend, the whipcords stinging against my bottom, curving around the little cheeks to seek out the most sensitive places. The dual sensations—the fullness in my mouth and the punishing lash on my backside—had me trembling with need.
“Look at me,” Marcus commanded. I raised my gaze to meet his.
Marcus’ eyes burned with an intensity that made me dizzy as they locked onto mine. The humiliation of my position, kneeling before him with his cock in my mouth and my hands bound to my sides, sent a thrill through my body. I felt utterly exposed, completely at his mercy. To either side, the straps that secured me to the posts seemed like a terrible reminder of how desperately I needed taming—as long as my miles was the one to teach me these paradoxically wild, but finally civilizing lessons.
“You advance, columba,” he intoned in the voice that meant he spoke words of ritual, a low rumble that vibrated through me. “Though you must learn still more.”
I whimpered around his thick shaft, unable to deny the truth of his words. The mastix cracked against my bottom again, and I jerked forward, taking him even deeper.
“That’s it,” Marcus growled, his tone no longer solemn. “Take it all. Show me how much you want to please your miles. Eyes down again.”
I blinked as I obeyed, experiencing a bit of mental whiplash at my master’s mixture of ritual with sheer masculine dominance. I could hardly imagine anything more in keeping with the Pretorian Guard’s ethos, though, when I thought about it. Marcus knew how to train me in both senses, ancient and modern, theoretical and very, very practical.
His hips began to move faster, his rigid penis fucking my face with increasing urgency. The mastix fell in a steady rhythm, each lash sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure through my body. I lost myself in the sensations, in the taste and feel of him, in the burning sting of the whip.