**From Lady in Chains, Chapter Twelve**
"You're tense as a wire, Sadi." Bannon kissed the top of her head. "You said the scent of orange oil in the torture chamber soothed you?"
She perked up. "Yes, it did."
A wicked grin spread across his face. "I think it's time you demonstrate one of your captivating apparatuses for me, kitten."
For the first time that day, a flicker of delight made Sadira smile. She rose from the bed, taking his hand, and led him into the inner rooms once more.
"Stay here," he ordered her, stationing her beside the collection of toys.
Sadira bit her lip. "Yes, sir."
Bannon strolled up and down the center aisle of the room, laying a finger on each device as he passed, considering them with a critical eye. Sweet anticipation rippled through her body as she watched him approach her favorite ones, and she pictured herself at his mercy upon them.
At last her Master reached the metal frame with shackles hanging from the crossbar. "Yes," he mused. "This one, Sadi. Select a suitable toy and bring it to me."
"Yes, sir." Her voice came out in a near-whisper. She knew which one to choose right away: a whip of red-and-black suede tails, with a handle shaped deliciously for full penetration, should the Master wish. She forced herself to move with decorum as she took it, though she trembled with the desire to hurry to him, hastening the moment.
Bannon took the whip, tucking it into his belt. "Stand here."
She did as asked, taking her place in the center of the frame. Without being told—though maybe she should have waited, since Bannon was still learning the ways of a Master—she folded her arms behind her back. Bannon took her first wrist and raised it over her head, closing it in the shackle above; then repeated the action with her second wrist. She hung bare before him, balancing on tiptoes. Though he stood behind her and couldn't see it, a private, pleased smile touched her lips.
"Be good, Sadira, and don't make a sound." He touched a finger to her lips. "And just what do we have here?"
His hand dropped to her bottom, caressing first one round cheek, then the other. Sadira closed her eyes and let out a long breath, warmed by his gentle, tender attention. Soon he worked with both hands, stroking in slow, sweet circles, drawing a titillating flush to her skin. His touch moved up to her hips and around, stroking the gentle swell of her belly, making her tremble as his fingertips tickled in their passing.
She sucked in soft gasp as he found her breasts. He moved his palms over them, running thumbs over her jutting, stiffened nipples. She couldn't help herself as the swell of delight tingled through her chest: she gave out a hushed groan.
"Bad girl." His whisper came right at her ear; his lips brushed her earlobe and his beard rasped by her neck. "I told you to be silent."
"Forgive me, Sir."
"Tsk tsk... such a bad little kitten."
His right hand cupped her breast and gave a careful squeeze, tugging her studded pink peak until she bit her lip again to resist making a sound. With his other hand, he explored between her thighs, stroking her mons, sliding his hot fingers along the folds of her plump outer lips.
"Spread your legs."
She did as asked. She expected him to slip his fingers into her, finding her ready and wet, but he didn't. Instead, he circled her clitoris with a teasing slowness, before withdrawing his tender touches altogether. Sadira shivered, her whole body primed for more.
Keeping her eyes closed, she listened for Bannon and tried to sense his presence near. She did sense him, in a wonderful and gratifying way, feeling him with her, watching her, contemplating her body.
The first slap of the whip struck her left buttock and she gasped again. It stung with a beautiful, delicate pain, swift and exciting. He followed it up with a second quick slap on her right buttock, a technique she knew he'd read of in their book.
Not as hard or solid as a spanking, the whip delivered a sparkling burst of bright sensation. Bannon lashed the leather tassels back and forth across her bottom until it grew hot and pinkened. Then he moved up the smooth planes of her back, whipping left then right in a practiced motion. Sadira's breaths came in hoarse, heavy pants, and her pussy ached for attention.
He circled her and whipped her front, slapping the tassels across her naked breasts. It made her jump but she held her tongue, and her nipples throbbed with delight. When he went down low, though, and slapped the whip between her legs, she couldn't help it. "Atala!"
Bannon paused. "What is it, kitten?"
"Too hard... down there," she heaved. "Do not stop, Sir, but... please, softly, down there."
"Very good, my pet."
His hand closed around her neck, not hard, as he claimed a kiss from her. He flicked the whip with much gentler force against her pussy, a teasing, glancing blow.
"Better?"
"Yes," she breathed. "I like that, Sir."
He kissed her again, then let go of her. Seconds later, the whip came again, and she surrendered to the suffusing pleasure.
After several moments, Bannon came around behind her again, and the click and slither of his belt slipping free of its clasp send a shiver through her body. He rested one hand on her hip; with the other he lifted her thigh, holding it aloft, as he pressed himself to her. Skin aglow, hypersensitive from the hot lash of leather, she grew tense with anticipation at his touch. The unmistakable shape of his cock pressed hard, like an enemy sword, against her flesh.
"You may moan now, if you like," he whispered in her ear again. Then he entered her, sliding up into her. She let out a shuddering groan and arched to welcome him. He thrust, filling her until it seemed too much, and her thighs shook.
“Goddess Sherida!” He groped her tender breast and tugged at her nipple, eliciting a joyous cry. “Damn, I’ve never felt you so wet.”
"Oh, Sir..." Sadira stretched her leg higher, inviting him deeper. "Yes, please..."
"Whipped up and down until your tits and ass are striped pink," he growled against her. "And all the hungrier for barbarian cock! Well, then, take it, my sweet slut!"
He thrust again, body rounding to hers. Sadira arched her body as much as she could manage, bound by the shackles. Her chains rattled as Bannon's pace increased, abdomen smacking hard against her sore buttocks. Her sounds of pleasure grew more heated, harder to separate from one another as Bannon had his way.
"Fuck, lass. Fuck, this pussy is so hot... so tight and wet...”
"Please, Sir!" She pressed back against him. "Don't hold back!”
“Don’t you hold back,” he commanded. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, and he gripped it like reins, pulling her head back until she cried out. “I know you’re close, Sadira. I can feel it all over you. You’re ready to come, all right. So go ahead. Come for me, my kitten. My sweet, wet she-cat.”
Sadira let out a long, heady moan, melting at his words, lost in a shimmering, rising bliss. Oh, how hard and beautiful he was inside her, how perfect and pleasing, filling her like they were made for one another, his powerful maleness joining her primal, hungry womanhood. Like mating tigers; like blazing fire. The ecstasy swallowed her, and she went up on tiptoe as her orgasm burst within her, shaking her whole body, drawing her skyward like the whirling embers of a fire. Her muscles tightened, and Bannon’s wonderful cock drove her even higher, each stroke heightened and magnified by her raging pleasure.
“Good girl,” he snarled in her ear. “But I’m not done, Sadira. Let’s see how many times we can make you do that before you’ve had enough!”
His thrusts grew harder, fiercer, driving into her tight sheath fragile with her climax. It was too much, it was overwhelming, but she bit her tongue to keep from saying the word that would stop him. She didn’t want to stop him—she wanted more, even as it made her legs quake and her pussy shudder. She wanted to see just how much he could give her before she went insane.
He grunted, thrusting harder, letting go of her upraised leg to seize her sore buttock in one greedy hand. She held the leg in place in his stead, bracing herself against the metal stand and groaning as his fingers groped her flesh. She could hardly think as he fucked her to a second dizzying, overwhelming peak, and a third, and all she knew was that her pussy was going to be so beautifully sore, so wonderfully, achingly sore...
“No more!” she begged, but it wasn’t the right word and she knew it. “No more, please, Sir—I can’t! I can’t!”
Bannon didn’t stop. He planted both hands on her hips and held her fast. He grunted like an animal now, ravenous with one desire. Sadira gave a short, mindless shriek as she approached her limit, a dizzying, terrifying, obliterating joy.
“Atala!” she finally gasped, teetering on the edge. “Sir, please! Please, I can’t take it anymore!”
As if he’d only been waiting for her surrender, Bannon gave a last, adamant thrust and then withdrew. A final rush of painful pleasure wracked her, and her pussy convulsed, sending a wet rush of fluids down her thighs, shuddering and spurting like a man’s own climax.
She hardly realized he’d slipped the pin holding her shackles to the frame until she dropped, ragged, to the floor. Then he was in front of her, stroking his glistening shaft at an urgent pace. He gripped her hair again, forcing her to tilt her face up just as his own orgasm hit him, sending hot jets of his seed across her cheeks, neck, breasts.
Sadira sat in a heap on the floor, heaving, shuddering, even after he’d let go of her and stepped away. She hardly knew where she was anymore: her mind and body were wrecked, intoxicated. Her legs were jelly; her arms ached.
And she loved it.
After some time, a blanket was wrapped around her. Strong arms gathered her up and held her close to a broad, warm chest. Sadira leaned her head against dusky, sweat-dampened skin, and breathed in the scent of her male. She touched him, laying her fingers just over the dark red tattoo. She wanted to speak, but no words came. She’d lost her speech.
Bannon carried her back to the bed. He laid her down, still wrapped in her blanket, and he sat on the edge of the bed beside her without a word. Sadira smiled up at him—it was all she could do—as he poured a bit of water from the drinking pitcher onto a clean rag and washed her face.
“You were stunning,” he whispered to her as he worked. Gently he ran the rag over her neck and breasts, then paused to fold and dampen it again, tending to her with its clean side.
“So stunning, my beautiful one.” He bent down to kiss her brow. “Like the wild lionesses of this land, lissome and strong.”
After each gentle pass with the washcloth, he kissed her skin, and tucked the blanket back around her. Sadira shivered when he reached the place between her thighs, but Bannon touched her slow, attentive care. He planted one warm kiss on the swell of her mons, and covered her up again.
“Are you comfortable, Sadi?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
He stroked her hair. “How’s your headache?”
“What headache?” She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised, and rose to take pitcher and washcloth to the inner chamber. Sadira blinked sleepy eyes, and turned her face toward the fire to await his return.
He’d just come back from the baths, drying his naked body with a fresh cloth, when a shrill scream of terror cut through the night.
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