"I use a different wrist motion when I use a cane or crop than I do when I swing a tawse or paddle. I never want to make a mistake and hit you somewhere I'm not intending."

"Thank God for that," she said.

"This particular cane is very whippy. I exercise all caution with it."

Part of her wished she'd played with one before. The fear of the unknown terrified her more than anything.

"Would you like an orgasm?"

"From that thing?" She scowled at the rattan.

"Ye of little faith," he mocked.

"I would like an orgasm, Sir. But I am sceptical."

"Moisten my fingers," he said.

She frowned.

"Stick out your tongue."

She complied without argument.

"Suck them," he said, voice sandpaper rough, when he put his fingers on her tongue.

He pulled away then moved his hand to her pussy. He slid his slickened fingers across her pussy until she helplessly jerked against his hand, then he entered her.

"Oh, Sir." She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hump him until she came.

"Not so quick."

All of the orgasm denial collided inside her, and tension built. Her legs trembled as she wordlessly sought more. He continued to play with her until she was within moments of coming. Then he stopped.

"Sir is an absolute beast," she said. She'd risen on her toes, and she slammed her heels to the ground.

"You'll earn it."

"I thought I already had, Sir."

"I'll decide that, sub."

He stepped back. "Let's see what a little slut you are, shall we?" He picked up the cane.

She was no longer feeling so aroused.

He brought the rattan between her legs. He tapped her clit.

"How's that?"

"Not as bad as I feared," she admitted.

"A little harder?"

"I'm not sure about that, Sir."

"We'll try it, shall we, hmm?"

He might have phrased it as a question, but she knew it was anything but. He stepped back a couple of inches and increased the pressure of the strokes. She cried out. Not from pain, but because she liked it. The fact she was restrained and helpless added to the delirium. "Sir, I'm really turned on," she admitted. "I need to come. Please? Please, may I?"

He didn't answer, and she jerked from the relentless hits.

"Sir? Master Alexander? I can't take any more. I swear. Please!"

Instead of allowing her to get off, frustratingly he moved the cane away, leaving her heaving, nerve endings singed.

She drank in several deep breaths.

"Do you have yourself under control?" he asked softly, about fifteen seconds later.

She met his gaze. She wished she could look down. Until he had introduced her to the posture collar, she'd had no idea how often she would glance at the floor to hide her emotions. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. You're doing very well. I'm proud of you. But there's more." He placed the length against her cunt. "Slide your pussy against the wood," he told her.

She had to bend her knees a bit to get enough pressure against the rattan. He wrapped one arm around her for support since her wrists were still attached to the collar. "This sounded easier in theory," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"I never said it was easy." He sounded surprisingly patient. "I just told you to do it. Hump the wood like the naughty slut you are. The way you did my hand. Now, get on with it."

It surprised her that she didn't feel mortified by his words. Instead, they liberated her. She was free to embrace her sexuality. In fact, he demanded it of her.

The wood was thin, and her damp pussy slid effortlessly along the waxed length. Despite her initial embarrassment, she ground herself against it, feeling herself getting wetter with each stroke. The sensations of the plug shifting inside her and dragging against the rattan magnified the feeling of being overwhelmed. Her breathing rate increased. And she heard his do the same. Rational thought was trampled by her physical desire. He tightened his grip around her, drawing her closer, lending more of his strength.

"That's it," he said encouraged.

The raspy sound of his voice against her ear drove her on. She'd never been with a man this masculine and demanding. She wanted more. She felt wild, wanton. Free. A climax built inside her again. "Sir, may I?" Keeping her balance became more and more difficult, and her whole body shook.

"Have you earned it?"

She was learning. "That's up to you to say, Sir. But I hope you'll think I have." Frantically, she moved back and forth.

He forced the wood against her even harder. The craving became desperation. She clenched her buttocks as she fought off the orgasm. "I beg you, Sir! Please, please."

"Yes," he said.

His permission unshackled her. She jerked her body and sobbed. The slickness of her pussy and unyielding force of the cane collided, then gathered force. His voice encouraged her, his motions drove her.

"Come now," he ordered.

She shuddered desperately as the long-denied climax washed over her. She closed her eyes as she shook, a sensation of relief surrounding her. He continued to hold her, whispering reassuring words in her ear, and at some point, he pulled the cane away.

When she finally became aware of the world around her, the rattan was on the floor, and both of his arms enveloped her. She'd never felt safer, more secure or satiated.

"Let me get you out of this collar," he said.

"Thank you. Thank you for the orgasm, Sir." She wanted to remain where she was, as close to him as was possible with the collar. He set her away from him, but only far enough to release her arms. "Remember, slow. Rotate your shoulders. Give yourself a few moments to adjust."

Within a minute, he'd freed her. But instead of issuing a command as she expected, he drew her back against his chest. He dug one hand into her short hair and held her until her breathing returned to normal. The orgasm he'd given her was shattering, but she yearned for a deeper connection...for him. "Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"You mentioned giving head as part of my training, Sir."

He adjusted his stance and tipped back her chin. "We can do that tomorrow."

"I..."

"Tell me what you want, Chelsea."

"You'll think I'm ungrateful."

His lips quirked in a quick smile. "I'll be the judge of that."

The smile had transformed him, subtracting years and seriousness from his face. She caught a glimpse of the man he was before the perils of life had battered him. For a moment he'd looked carefree and a lot less stern. "I want sex," she admitted. "But you just brought me off."

"I will want you to leave the plug in."

She blinked. Nothing should shock her with him, but it did. "Is that even possible, Sir?"

"The fit will be tight. You'll either enjoy it or hate it."

"So it's not an option to remove the plug?"

"Afraid not."

She exhaled. The blasted thing was getting uncomfortable, and having his cock inside her would no doubt make it worse. "I'm willing to try, Sir."

He nodded. "Please crawl to the master bedroom."

She stood there, her mouth open.

He folded his arms implacably.

"Crawl?"

"I'm not repeating my command, Chelsea."

Silence stretched and tension became palpable. She reminded herself she had wanted to be the perfect sub. He waited without saying anything else. She knew she needed to make the first move. Feeling sort of mutinous, she gave an annoyed sigh and lowered herself to the floor.

"We'll practise crawling every day for a while," he said.

She should have figured as much. Why the hell didn't he just spank her and get it over with? In most of the fiction she'd read, stubborn or disobedient subs were summarily beaten. But he took a different, and unwelcome, approach.

"After you," he said.

She felt lewd, crawling in front of him down the hallway. The plug had to be clearly visible sticking out of her ass.

"Keep your head up," he told her. "You look sexy like this. A very good girl."

She wasn't feeling sexy. Though she was behaving as he instructed, her mind was rebellious. The sound of his shoes on the hardwood reminded her of her submission, and she disliked it.

In his bedroom, he looked at her. "Kneel up." He turned back the comforter and top sheet before ordering her onto the bed. "Lie on your back, across the mattress," he added. "And put your hands above your head."

She wondered about his instructions, but complied without question. She watched him undress, and he took little care with his clothes. He tossed his shoes towards the closet. His socks followed. He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it from the closet door.

Maybe she shouldn't have asked for this. She found it overwhelming when he was dressed and she was naked. But seeing his honed biceps reminded her of his power.

His gaze was on her as he unbuckled his belt and pulled the leather through the loops. For a wild, wicked moment she wondered what it would feel like if he used it on her.

"You'll find out," he said as if reading her mind.

Her mouth dried.

He dropped his trousers, and she saw he was wearing silk boxers. She'd never thought boxers were appealing, but on him they were totally masculine. When he removed them, she saw his cock was already hard. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen a man who was so broad and honed.

She parted her legs and expected him to enter her. Instead, he knelt over her.

"Suck my dick, sub."

Oh, Lord. He loomed above her and filled her vision with his ball sac and erect cock.

She'd never done anything like this and feelings of helplessness slammed into her.

Because he had leverage, he could have choked her, but he initially only shoved his cockhead inside her mouth.

"Take a little more," he said.

She started to move her hands so she had a little control, but he ensnared her wrists.

She licked and sucked him, trying not to focus on how big he was and how totally he filled her.

"Good girl."

When he groaned, she redoubled her efforts to please him. He jerked his hips, going deeper down her throat, claiming dominion over her.

By the time he pulled out, she was gasping and choking, feeling surrendered and no longer able to think.

"That will do. For now."

At first, she'd done okay, but towards the end, physical sensation had swamped her. And the sound of his voice told her he'd been as into it as she was.