On Monday, I started a series with J is for Jazz. Continue the story here, go back to the beginning, or check out all of our A to Z Posts. I hope you’ll like and comment on my posts, so I can win the book store shopping spree from Richard!

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N is for Naughty

by Jayden

Master finished reading the short chapter and closed the book. “Did you like that, slut?”

“Mmm, yes, Sir.” I had felt myself getting wetter as he read. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his tongue on my clit. I wanted to feel him lick and suck me. By the time he was done reading, I couldn’t help myself, and I had slipped one hand between my thighs to lightly rub against my clit.

“It appears that you did like it,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me, “too much.”

I realized that I was touching myself without his permission, and I stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I said immediately.

“Naughty girl.”

I whimpered, “No, Master, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

He chuckled, “You know better.”

I did know better. I wasn’t allowed to touch my clit without his express permission. But I was so turned on by hearing him read the story that I didn’t even realize what I was doing. “Master, please, I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“And that’s why I have to teach you to be better, slut.”

“I’ll be better. I promise.”

“You will, after I punish you.”

“No, Master, please,” I pleaded, tears welling in my eyes. I hated to be bad. 

He stood up, pulling me to my feet. Then he gripped me by my throat, hard enough to make me gasp for air, but not hard enough to leave a mark or make me actually unable to breathe. I almost went limp in his grasp, not from lack of air, but because I was so aroused, and his grip made me sink so hard into subspace with him. “Whose body is this?” he asked, running his free hand down my side and over my hip.

“Yours, Master.”

“That’s right, slut. It’s all mine.”

“Yes, Master.”

He reached between my legs, and I slid them open for him. I was hoping that he would do something nice to my clit, though I had no idea why I would think that. Instead, he pinched my clit, and I moaned in pain. “God, you’re so wet I can barely pinch your clit, slut. You like this, don’t you?”

“N-no, Master. I want to be your good girl.”

He let go of my neck and pulled me into his arms. “I know you do, slut.”

“I do, Master,” I choked out, the tears beginning to fall.

He held me against his shoulder, his arms warm and safe and loving. “I know how worked up you get when I read to you.”

“I do, Master,” I said again.

“But that doesn’t mean you get to touch your clit without permission.”

“I know, Master. I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be.”

“I promise, Master, I’ll be better.”

He ignored my pleading promise. “What did you like so much about Masochistic Mistress, my little masochist? Do you want a subby boy of your own?”

“No, Master.”

“Then what had you so turned on, pet?”

I thought for a moment about the story and what did make me love it so much. “I just loved the connection they had.”

“That’s all?”

“No,” I said, pausing to gather my thoughts again, “I love the way he hurt her.”

“Do you want me to hurt you that way, slut?”

“Yes, Master,” I said, without hesitation this time. Having a nice bite mark on my shoulder was a very appealing thought. Being pinned underneath him was also appealing.

“Do you want a sub to lick you clean when I cum inside you?”

Now that I might be okay with. “Y-yes, Master.”

“Is it hot to think that someone would lick my cum out of you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“But you don’t want a sub of your own?”

“No, Master.”

Sometimes in previous years, I had been more of a switch, but thinking about it now just sounded like a lot of work.

“No, Master, I don’t want a sub of my own.”

“What if I had another sub for you?”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that either, but it sounded like a problem for another day. “I don’t know, Master.”

“Okay, well, you think about it. In the meantime, it’s time for your punishment.”

“Master?” I asked. I thought maybe he had forgiven me for my transgression.

“Open,” he said, and he tapped my thighs, indicating that I should open my legs. I desperately didn’t want to.

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Join me again tomorrow for the conclusion to this series: O is for Open!