Read Through the Hole for Free Online Page A

her flesh in an expertly maintained beat, like the rhythm of some Spanish ballad as Marissa was forced to feel every moment of her forbidden lover's cock working its way inside of her…deep, and hard, and heavy, then out…over, and over, and over again, and each time she let a cry of pleasure escape her lips the crop would coax the added volume of a pleasant sting of pain from her throat, the two sensations mingling to create a beautiful, sensual duet of deeply felt love on a level that resonated with every individual cell of her being.
    It would become a game; she would try to hold back, try to keep his justly earned reward from him, keep from crying out at the hot pleasure with which he flooded her flesh, making her skin burn and tingle; his crop would be wielded then, to masterful effect, lashing screams of gratified sensation—almost unknowing as to which— and slowly reddening her breasts and her shoulders, always careful to avoid her nipples except during her most reluctant, most held-out moments of naughty, bad-girl denial. Oh, that was when she deserved to be punished…to be beaten, by her Master…and the crop would strike her throbbing nipples right in the exact, most perfect moment, and she would scream…scream for him…scream anything he wanted…and love every moment of it, because it was about the two of them becoming one. The perfection of their union would be like nothing she had ever known before, or would ever know after him…and even if it only happened once, she would remember it for the rest of her life.
    Her fingers slipped; she was shaking. Marissa skipped the eighth setting on her new device, and went directly to nine, and the leap in sensation was beyond words. This was hot , and amazing, and punishing , and no more than what a naughty girl deserved for teasing her man so relentlessly, showing herself to him, moaning with pleasure at his actions…such a dirty little girl she was, and now he was grabbing her…pulling, and pinching, and twisting , but with the fine-tuned precision of something inhuman, something like a God. Marissa was barely aware of the fact that she was clinging to the sheets with toes squeezed into a white-knuckled grip, and on the verge of breaking the end off of one of the wooden bedposts with one hand…the one not “occupied.” In her fantasy, straddling the worlds of reality and imagination, she was bound and helpless as her lover made her move however she wanted, straddling her…pinching, where he knew it would make her squeal, and twisting what could be twisting, turning her nipples slowly between his fingers until an arched back turned into a scream, and squeezing her breasts…then, her ass, tickling his way down to it slowly until she bleated with laughter and promised to do anything, anything he wanted, before the way he struck and squeezed her ass took away her ability to form words amid cries of pure pleasure, drawn out by now from something which ought to have simply been painful…
    Nothing is simple…Not with my Master.
    Ten.
    Marissa screamed her pleasure, her body arching up off of the bed, fingers released from their labors as she needed them for her support…as her body rose up, on wrists and ankles, feeling almost as though she were actually secured in place, incapable of escape because she didn't want to be capable. She wanted to be held, forced to feel pleasure, forced to arch and scream for her sexy, sensuous Master's pleasure in her own turn, and so she was—somehow—as her cries seemed to bring down additional bits and pieces of drywall, minutely small particles, which cascaded down from behind the hastily hung mirror behind her bed—or was that her own bed, now, banging against the wall with the force of her own throes of intense, passionate arousal, the cries escaping from her throat being more and more like those of an animal in the full grip of heat than anything else? She hadn't even noticed…but there it was: WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP