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Paul,” I answered and he smiled again, gently petting my ass as he shook his head.
    “No, you didn’t. Want to try that again?”
    “Yes...” It was more sigh than word, and this time I launched myself into the task with a literal mindedness that felt alien and oddly humiliating—not in the tiny little licks that a kitten might have produced but the eager broad tongue strokes of an over-excited golden retriever, licks that left his fingers wet and shiny and that winded me so that I ended up panting, looking up at him wide-eyed and not stopping until he’d tell me to.
    “What a good, eager little learner we are...” he whispered and it hit me that this was exactly what I craved, ever since I could remember. He just had to say it, gently and condescending, and I moaned and then licked harder just to hear it again. 
    “Good puppy, that’s enough, thank you.” He smiled, touched my still lips and brought a finger to his mouth for a taste. I only realized now that his hand was still firmly placed on my rear where I couldn’t feel the sting anymore. The warmth his hand projected seemed to radiate all the way through skin and tissue instead. But again, all I could think about was the next moment and the next—aching for more.
    “You liked that,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “And you did so well.” Already his fingers were sneaking under my skirt again but this time, without any hesitation, he hooked them into the elastic of my panties and tights and pulled them down. There was no question in whether he had a right to do so, no careful testing or shy probing. He just took what he wanted and told me to lift my ass so that he could bring them down to my knees but no further.
    “My, my... someone wet their panties good, didn’t they?”

 
     
     
    VII
     
     
    Where I had expected to feel shame or humiliation, the only sensation comparable to those was the dizzying heat in my face. And that, I hardly noticed at all against the overwhelming pumping in my clit and the shower of tingling need he had sent all over my body. I whimpered and stared at the silver tape recorder that soaked up each sound like a sponge does water. Traitorous, evil, beautiful little device.
    “What was that?” Paul asked fingers running slowly between the elastic of my panties and the sensitive back of my knees. 
    “Yes...” I breathed on the exhale of another moan. My fingers curled against the carpet. Everything smelled like him—rugged and sea-worthy and I felt like I was drowning, deliciously, sweetly drowning. “Yes, Sir!”
    The tape proved it, he didn’t even have to tell me. I seemed so eager to be his, to shout it out with each sound he drew from me. From that moment on, he was Sir and I had sunk one rung deeper into a game, into a body, into a life I had hardly dared to dream of. 
    “That’s my girl,” he answered, then pulled at my underwear to untangle my tights and panties from my legs. But still he didn’t touch me even as I was all but wriggling my wanton arse at him. Instead, he leaned to his side again, petting my hair. I could smell myself on his wrist, and before I could think about that, he held my panties in front of my face. The soaked panel hung there, right in front of me, then flapped against my nose and my lips. I closed my eyes and all I saw was red heat. 
    It was in that moment that he decided to touch me again; easily reaching between my legs, he held my sex in his hand—thumb in the crack of my arse and the rest of his palm and fingers pressing against my labia. I wanted to cry, I was so aroused all I could utter were desperate whines and whimpers.
    “Will you look at these panties?” He let them swing against my face again. They were so drenched, I could feel all the places where they left juices on my nose, my lips and my chin. I can’t lie. I adored that sharp smell then. It, too, was salty and overwhelming, and it went so perfectly with the way his middle