Page 83 of Making Over Maris

“Yes, Mistress.” Yes. Oh, hell yes.

“All right. Now, let’s see.” He heard her flipping through the pages. “Page thirty-five, what color are Mistress Monique’s boots?”

“Red.” That was an easy one. He loved those boots.

“Correct,” she grunted. “Okay. Page seventy-five. A slave is being punished. What position is he in?”

Ah. Page seventy-five. “On his hands and knees. He’s wearing a leather harness. His wrists are attached to his collar with a—”

“Fine!” She was silent for a moment. He could only imagine she was pouting. He was rocking this quiz. “Here. Page ninety. How many welts—”

“Five.”

She flicked through the pages. “Mmm. Here on page one hundred sixteen—”

“Saint Andrew’s cross. Twelve visible bolts. Probability of a total of twenty-four as it’s only a half shot. Two manacles, one at the top of each arm. And in the background six candles arranged in a—”

Sara snapped the book shut. “Damn it, Jack!”

“You did tell me to study.” He was, if nothing else, diligent.

She growled. He heard her flipping through the pages. Then silence. “What year was this book originally published?”

“What?” Panic flared. He never paid any attention to that kind of stuff. He only looked at the pictures.

“Wrong answer.” The enthusiasm with which she smacked his ass was concerning. And exciting. “What year?”

“I don’t know.”

Another smack. Heat flooded his ass. He flinched even as an odd contentment trickled through him. This was… God. “Sara.” He groaned her name as another smack fell.

“Quiet, Jack. Don’t make me gag you. I did bring the gag, didn’t I?” Thankfully the question was rhetorical. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes, Mistress.” The word slipped out much easier now. He shuddered at what that meant.

“Since you have apparently memorized every page of this book, I’m sure you know what’s happening on page seventeen?”

Oh Lord. Another shudder as that image screamed through his brain. “Yes.”

The paddle fell. The sting was delicious. The burn sublime. He loved it. Loved it. Fucking loved it.

“Yes, Mistress,” she snarled.

“Yes. Mistress.”

“Would you like me to do that to you?”

Would he? “Y-yes, Mistress.”

He flinched as she stroked his cock with something cold and slick. The desire to explode nearly overtook him as he realized it was her boot. Her slinky, latex, fucking boot. Touching his cock. His mouth watered.

“You’re very hard, aren’t you?” She knelt beside him and her hand replaced the boot. She thumbed at the tip of his swollen member. Nudged at the little eye. He shivered. “What’s this? A drop of dew? Do you want to come, Jack?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Ah. Of course you do. But you won’t, will you?”

His heart stuttered. “I-I won’t?”