Binding Resolutions Chapter 5: The Resolution that Changed Everything

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As our story nears its climax, Yvonne's tale starts to iron itself out, exposing the concealed truths below. How far do the depths of desire and devotion go? Can frank confessions and a readiness to sacrifice all for love redefine the rhythm of the narrative? Awaiting Yvonne is a destiny that is still to be fully realised, yet startling disclosures test the bedrock of her being; how will she and her dear mistress navigate the ensuing upheaval?

**Trigger Warning**

Please be aware that this chapter contains explicit sexual content and explores themes of power dynamics and identity transformation. It may be distressing for some readers. If such material is not to your taste or comfort, I encourage you to exercise discretion and prioritize your well-being.

Prior Chapters of Binding Resolutions can be found here: Binding Resolutions Book

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Binding Resolutions Chapter 5: The Resolution that Changed Everything

Mistress' fingers, barely there against the tender skin of my obedient cockette, were not ‘little Yvonne’, not at this moment, as she traced idle patterns, eliciting involuntary twitches with every light caress.

“The tattoo seems to have worked as intended. There is a good reason I had it inked on you: to be a constant reminder of who or what you are becoming, meant to change with you during this journey. To jolt you back to reality if you ever got lost.” Her feather touch was a soft curse, teasing life into the quivering nub. The gentle prodding coaxed forth quivers of pleasure from where I had only recently believed that only shame could reside.

“The resolution box,” her breath danced on my skin, “was more than just a pretty piece to hold paper dreams. It had power – the kind that weaves written wishes into the fabric of fate.” Mistress punctuated her words with a quick tug on my sensitive little bud, coaxing a stifled moan from my quivering lips. “People dropped their desires into this box on slips of paper; the bits of paper would disappear, but throughout the year, their wishes would manifest.”

She didn’t skip a beat as I squirmed under her words. “Jacob, that motherfucker – he recognised the box’s true nature. He must have pieced it together at the pool party we hosted last summer.”

"Quoi... de la magie?" I started, only for Mistress’ stern "Shush, just listen and trust in what I say," as she tugged at my swollen ‘clit’ again, just a wee bit painfully this time."The words are mine now, my voice; you’re the echo. ‘This… Is my desire, my order." The turmoil within her baby blues, deep pools reflecting pain and longing, tethered my soul to hers.

I had the damn right to refuse, yet love prevailed — I chose to immerse myself in her desires and her sorrow. With a raspy, heartfelt "Oui, comme vous commandez, ma maîtresse." I sealed my loyalty, and I passionately suckled at her, baring my soul to her guidance.

"He must have been privy to its power. His family might even have owned one of their own, some of the only surviving artefacts of the damnable witch trials," she continued, tracing the shell of my ear with her tongue, then pausing to moisten her fingertip with my lips.

"He knew how they worked; they couldn’t just be stolen. Those boxes passed from hand to hand only by consent, willingly. Their power is immense, meant for good, but his plan sought to twist their gifts, and by extension, our very fates, to his will."

"Mais pourquoi?" slipped from my tongue, my voice barely audible, but her swift rebuke, "Silence, my eager little kitten," left me reeling from the next little pull at my 'clitty'.

"The jealousy was fucking killing him – that *Adam* – you," she clarified, tilting my head up again to lock eyes, commanding me not to speak. She smirked at me with pointed clarity. "Yes, I said, Adam. Now just return to sucking," she instructed as she pushed my lips back to her inviting nipple. "You were the antithesis of his mediocrity."

"Adam was everything the scumbag wasn't – fucking tall, dark, overflowing with that fiery charm, warm, approachable, and just so goddamn irresistible... the primal alpha. Your very existence was a reminder of his wholly average existence, and in the office, Adam was on the cusp of overshadowing him completely."

She revealed her growing appetite in a husky whisper as she engaged my rosebud, her finger parting me tenderly. "Adam had it all: the room's gaze, a captivating strength from within and without, respect for me as his equal, and between the sheets, a relentless, untamed predator.”

She groaned with passion as she continued with our tale, her fingers slowly easing into my welcoming love knot, "his lust for, and obsession with, me. Knowing that I was utterly and completely in love with, owned by, and truly dicked down by Adam drove him mad."

Then she plunged into me with purpose, igniting a flare of raw yearning. I cried out, breathless, "No longer Adam, correct?... Confess, do you miss him?"

The very thought of *Adam* sent a pulse of warmth flickering through me, making my ‘clitty’ quiver with recognition. Swarming thoughts of Adam, with his broad chest and chiselled abs honed by relentless discipline, swept over me. That confident grin etched across a face of stark, masculine beauty.

Each memory of that body, of Adam, was like salivating over a face I knew but couldn't touch—an ache for a brute strength I didn't just surrender to but was stripped away from me. Now, all I could do was drool and ache for that power, to be pinned and taken by it, to be split open and to be utterly, deliciously ravaged.

The vision flashed hotter, filthier—I was straddling him, skewered on that magnificent cock, bouncing with a slut's greed. And there she was, my Mistress, eyes blazing with twisted pleasure at the sight of her man, her Adam, owning me.

A raw, guttural moan clawed its way out of me before I could leash it, a sound drenched in desire for a past that twisted my insides with yearning and a perverse kind of thrill.

"Mmmmm... cette bite," the words purred out, unbidden, tinged with carnal nostalgia, "maître," (*"Mmmmm... that cock... master’s...,"*) the term falling from my lips like a token of another life. I raced to correct myself through a haze of lust, "J'aimerais encore l'avoir..." (*"I wish I still had it..."*)

Mistress' laugh was a melody spiked with longing, a tender probe into our open wounds of longing. "You and me both, babe," she crooned, a predatory purr to her teasing. "And based on that little slip, ideally inside us, right? Wouldn't that be delicious?"

As she continued, my lips were clamped tight around her, sucking as if my life depended on it. Her fingers diligently worked my little bud, now throbbing desperately for release. "Keep that pretty mouth working, but I'll let you squeak out little words. I liked your little slip-up. No idea what ideas they might give me," she purred as her nail grazed my tip, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me.

As my hands, wanton with craving, crept towards the warmth between Mistress' thighs, she swiftly captured them. "Not yet, my little slut," pausing her circling fingers on my aching nub, "There's time for that later—listen now."

"The shiftless cur. Not a thought for bettering himself; all he craved was to peel you away, layer by layer until nothing was left, not even me." Mistress spat out the words, her thrusts burying deeper with each assertion as I attempted to focus on the task at hand. My sucking grew frantic against her nipple, yet my body betrayed me with quivering fits of weakness.

Her touch was torturous, pinching and rolling my ‘clitty’ between her fingers, all while she began to finger me relentlessly from behind. "...pour me briser," (*" break me,"*) I choked out, salty droplets mingling with the heat of my breath.

"He saw you shattered to pieces, with himself as the twisted orchestrator. Any desire, any ambition could have been his; had he but devoted himself to it, the wheel of fortune would've spun in his favour. Instead, he chose to ensnare us; you and me compelled to surrender to his perverse vision," her hands found a wicked pace, pushing deep and pulling in rhythm. "Hélas," I whimpered, tears streaking my cheek. "Toi et moi."

"That, my precious toy, is the true might of the resolution box. No grand sorcery; rather, it's the subtle yet incredibly powerful whisper of fate that helps turn your deepest wishes into reality. Just remember, though, to make a wish again, the prior year's commitment must be honoured. The box sides with only the truly committed."

As her fingers worked their magic, "Promesses," my murmur hung in the air, heavy with lost dreams and the path ahead. "Promesses sacrées..." (*"Sacred promises."*)

"He spelt out his sick yearnings," her voice was silk over steel as she spoke my former name again, each utterance of 'Adam' paired with a deeper thrust and a sharp pull at my aching ‘clitty’, binding me tighter in the web of my own reckless surrender.

"You offered yourself so blindly, Adam. You swore to be anything I wanted, gifting your complete submission to me and opening yourself up to his perverse wishes — for him, yes, but also against yourself, Adam, and inevitably, against me."

"Arrêtez, Maîtresse, s'il vous plaît..." (*"Stop, Mistress, please..."*) I gasped out, my voice hitching as she continued to pluck at my little cocklette, but she only chuckled darkly.

"Stupid girl," she said with a loving bite. "Your promise left you bare, gave you away — made you the unwitting star." Her finger twisted within me, her other hand delivering sharp pleasure to my throbbing bud, the precarious balance of pleasure and pain driving me mad.

Mistress' voice softened, a shadow of remorse threading through as she recounted the twist in our tale. "The most fucked-up part was how he got me involved. It was sinister, really," her finger paused inside me as if to mark her words.

"Do you remember me going to Lynne for hypnotherapy to help quit smoking and to become more confident? It was your recommendation."

"Oui… putain… sur la recommandation de Jacob," (*"Yes... fuck... on Jacob's recommendation,"*) I blurted out, alarm flaring within me. "Yes, Yvonne, he did... and that's how his vile claws snagged me right along with you."

Mistress moved on top of me, and reclined against my thighs. Her breast momentarily forgotten as her thoughts cast backward. "Let's retrace our journey, love, to a time not long after the party at the pool," she said, wistfully staring into my eyes.

“You came to me, off the back of Jacob's recommendation, for Lynn's hypnosis for my smoking." Her hand slid from my throbbing cockette, commanding bluntly, "Slide open, darling, let me see the goods," and I obliged, my thighs shamelessly unveiling my naked need.

Hmm. Where was I? Yes, her hypnosis snared the cigarettes. Had I been aware back then, I would have understood that a mind attuned to the desired end can be reshaped with only will. Hypnosis is a great excuse to exercise said will; otherwise, it's a fruitless endeavour. Clearly, her hypnosis was no great shakes, but she had earned my trust.

"You, too, had seen the merit in her sessions and were supportive of my desire for further self-improvement on the professional front. To embrace being more forceful, more assertive, more commanding," she reminisced, her eyes tracing the curves she now laid claim to.

Her fingers continued their torturous playing with my 'clitty', the torment keeping my breath well away from the rest of me, "mmm... plus imposant" (*"mmm...more commanding."*) I was caught in a whirlwind of discomfort from her words and ecstasy from her touch.

The bitch took it all in—she listened, and like a viper with honeyed words, she whispered suggestions. She toyed with the idea of dominance—over my professional sphere, yes, but also within our intimate walls," she mused, “suggesting I dip not just a toe but my very soul into dominance, to wield it both in the boardroom and in the bedroom."

Mistress reflected, her coy smile reassuring me even as it manipulated my tender flesh. "Planting seeds in my head, having you lay it bare, giving it up to me, to have every inch of you, inside and out." She drove her finger with a savagery that wracked my frame, "mon Dieu... oui... maîtresse," (*"my God... yes... Mistress."*) My body ached for more of her cruel mercy.

“Remember that session when you wore the maid's outfit, serving me, yielding to my every urge?" Her eyes sparkled with the memory as she recounted, “That was when you first opened up to me completely."

Surrendering to my vulnerable position, drawn to her breasts, arching my back into her, returning to her teats, folding myself into a tiny little ball, and hungrily nursing as she drew me back into the heat of our memories, "Je m'en souviens..." I murmured against her skin.

“I remember your submission, how nervous but willing you were. That was when I discovered the joys of your backdoor. You, on your knees, my fingers and tongue exploring, the first time I delved into your sweet, puckered hole. My beautiful bull, letting me tug the reins," her body quivered with the thrill. “You, squirming, relenting, letting me have my way with you, was fucking intoxicating."

Her rhythm intensified as she tortured my 'clitty’. "J'ai vraiment aimé..." (*"I really enjoyed it..."*) I groaned, lost in the shockwaves her touches sent crashing through me.

Mistress' finger moved with a rougher cadence now, igniting a blend of pain and pleasure that left me squirming, a puppet strung on the aching throb within me.

And then, her manipulation became almost feral, her motions eliciting deep, animalistic urges. "Incroyable..." (*"Incredible..."*) my fragmented voice sighed in rapture as my lips desperately sought to feed on her ripe bosom.

Then her tone dropped, icy like the truth she recalled, "It was then, atop that exhilarating peak, she tested me with stories of forced submission, husbands brought low entirely." Mistress spat, a loathing for the poison she nearly drank. "But it didn't stick, I loved you—Adam."

The name was a jab, deeper this time, "Your touch, how you cherished me, and God, that beautiful cock of yours." That day, I stopped visiting her, she said as she continued her ministrations. Each pulsing push spoke of yearning for a life and love teetering on the cusp of being lost.

Her insistent touch paused only briefly as she unravelled the truth – clarity breaking through. "I did piece it together later, but it was too late by then. Our journey had already begun." Her motion resumed, each thrust layered with new understanding. I nearly shouted, "Ils étaient dans le même bateau." (*“They were in the same boat.”*)

She leaned into me. "Yes, babe. They both shared this sin. He was an investor in her business and between her legs. The plan was to poison my thoughts. Now suck harder. Deep reflections don't need to stop other important... activities as well." She said, and I crouched into her even more, sucking harder.

“Still, she left behind seeds that played on my curiosity despite it all, whispers that wormed their way into my thoughts. I even took up reading kink on websites,” she said, her voice drifting away for just a moment.

“The temptation gnawed at me, wondering what it would be like to truly command, not just playfully but totally," she whispered, her fingers continuing their maddening rhythm that now twisted in my flesh. "La tentation, c'est le piège ultime..." (*“Temptation is the ultimate trap…”*)

"Curiosity can be a hell of a drug. Mixed with intrigue and touched by the allure of something more... something darker. It led me…us down a path I never foresaw," Mistress confessed, her voice heavy with unfolding dread.

She looked down at me, helplessly offered up for her pleasure. "Is my precious girl drinking in every syllable?" she asked seriously. Amidst the overwhelming sensations, my compliance spilt forth with a breathy moan, "Yes, Mistress... dominion over... Adam."

Her fingers dove deeper within me, her touch echoing the twisted narrative she spun—a tale of corrupted lust. "Give me your moans," she ordered, and my response came hot and needy, "Maîtresse... vos désirs... manipulés." (*"Mistress... your desires... manipulated."*)

"What we thought was a mere flirtation with control—it was explicit in its intent to reshape us and you—Adam." Each mention of that name was delivered with a deeper plunge, extracting broken breaths that spilt out of me.

“We left enough loopholes for him to get exactly what he wanted. Two vague, vulnerable and open-ended resolutions that he could spin to serve his own desires. All he needed was a resolution of his own to ruin ours.”

"My desire and your blind promise, Adam," she said, now relentlessly plundering into me, unearthing cries of agonised ecstasy, "morphed you into my private whore, and us into playthings in his grotesque little theatre."

"Je suis foutrement à vous, Maîtresse... utilisée par ce connard ou non," (*"I'm fucking yours, Mistress... used by that arsehole or not,"*) I bellowed, laid out naked, body and soul laid bare before her. Her fingers thrusting, even during this confession, drove me higher.

"Oh mon amour," her voice was laced with hurt, her hands drawing me in closer, flesh mashed against flesh, as she divulged, "He mapped out our demise, every wicked detail crafted with someone else's pen. Even paid some smut peddler to draft a five-thousand-word blueprint. A fucking saga disguised as a resolution that painted the walls with his shit-stains of decadence."

"Arrêtez... non, continuez, Maîtresse!" (*Stop... no, continue, Mistress!*) The contradiction of my pleas matched the push-pull of her punishing touch, the perfect blend of agony and ecstasy.

“We were the stars, but he spread his poison far and wide, corrupting almost everyone from last year's gathering, from Mike to my sister—all unwitting pawns on his dirty chessboard."

The scream of "Oh my God!" ripped through me, my voice splitting between the horror of Jacob's vile deeds and the rampant waves of ecstasy that Mistress was pounding into my body. Each thrust against my cocklet sent spasms of delight that clashed with the icy realisation shadowing each reveller's devolution from decency to debauchery.

"That sneaky bastard had it all tied up – a dirty magic trick with no loose ends. No one suspects sorcery when their minds and faces are buried between each other's thighs. Chasing shameless revelry over regular lives. Their transformations into sexual demons made everyone a suspect and everyone a victim.”

Beneath her skilled hand, a hot, conflicted "No!" bubbled up from my throat. Her fingers still persistent, and her words spelt out the hideous game that twisted a year's worth of guests from pristine to stone-cold sex freaks.

"Hold on a moment, my sweet," Mistress' voice was soft as she withdrew her wet finger, leaving me empty. I was glued to her breast like a babe, curled in and suckling with fervent need, missing her presence inside me.

A shift in her movement, and then—it came, a chill of anticipation on my skin before the mammoth invader breached me, a beast larger than any I'd had the pleasure of feeling inside me. She drove it home with deliberate force, and I was exploding with stars, my surrender absolute.

"Do you revel in the memory of my Adam's monster meat, my depraved little harlot?" Mistress' voice was thick with triumph as the phallus buried itself in me, feeding my bottomless craving. "That life cast I had taken ages ago?”

Her voice had a delighted edge to her words, "Today's secret from the mall? I took my incredible fucker’s mould and had it turned into this strapping delight just now. And I spared no expense to have this surprise crafted on such short notice."

“Tell me, my slut, how it feels to be speared by the cock of MY Adam? Can you feel his big virile balls slap against you, being split open by the only shaft that sated me?" she roared, the lioness in her emerging as the voice reverberating through me.

I was lost, dizzy with desire. "Mmm… la bite du maître… elle est plus grande que toutes celles des autres hommes… comme je le voudrais ici…" (*"Mmm… the master’s cock… it’s bigger than all others… how I wish he were here…"*)

“Listen to my voice," Mistress' tone brooked no dissent as she ruthlessly pounded each inch into me. Clarity washed over her, even in the throes of our shared depravity. "I was fucking oblivious to the spell’s insidious creep, but halfway through our journey, it hit me like a slap on the face.”

Some gutter site had a story that accurately reflected our sordid ordeal, every little detail. At first, it turned me on, but then repulsion struck hard. It was like peering into the abyss. The same dirty fable unravelled right before my eyes," she plunged deeper, coaxing a guttural scream of pure, filthy pleasure.

Each slap of her cock on my tender flesh made me want her more; each strike demanded my silent agreement. “Say it,” she demanded. “Admit to your Mistress that you're nothing but a toy sculpted by envy and lust."

I uttered precisely what she asked of me, "un jouet, oui…" (*"A toy, yes…"*) I spoke, my words, a reflection of my helpless acceptance and the hunger that knotted my insides.

“It was that cursed author, commissioned by Jacob, who had published it as a filthy tale, now public, a blueprint of our demise crafted into erotica and splashed across those dark corners of the web that I had taken to visiting by then.”

“Our descent was not ours alone to bear – horrors that I shamefully found myself poring over, consumed by the explicit perversions that someone dared to call our life.”

Enraged by the thought, she was now punishing me with relentless fervour. Her… Adam’s cock slamming home… over and over. Her hand ensnared the back of my neck as she dragged my diminutive, suckling form even closer to hers.

The other twisted my nub—a torturous pleasure so sharp I could barely breathe. "Je suis à bout, je ne peux plus penser…" (*I'm at my limit, I can no longer think…*) I choked out, my mind a whirlpool of lust.

She continued, "Remember how quickly those hormones ravaged your robust form, Yvonne," she growled, "how those meds should have taken years to sculpt these—" Her hand cupped the heft of my breast, "—ripe, suckable tits."

"Oui, ma poitrine est si douce... si parfaite pour lécher…" (*Yes, my chest is so soft... so perfect for sucking…*) I panted, feeling the weight of my new flesh, the pink nipples hardening under her touch.

"Your stature, once towering, now diminished, ripe, and tender beneath me," she said with a cruel affection as she pushed deeper, each inch she claimed inside echoing the inches I'd lost outside. "Mon Dieu, je suis si petite, si vulnérable sous vous…" (*My God, I am so small, so vulnerable beneath you…*) I exhaled sharply, each thrust of the penetrating shaft as impactful as the dawning reality of my transformation.

Her palm traced my jawline, now purposed for her possessive grip. "The firm set of your jaw, now a graceful arc for kisses," her hand ascended my face, grasping my spun gold tresses, "and see how your once dark mane now spills in honeyed curls," she said. "Maîtresse, je ne me reconnais plus…" (*"Mistress, I no longer recognise myself…"*) I uttered, a whimper softer than the curls that now framed my face.

Still holding me by my hair with one hand, a finger from her other hand traced the void where my balls once resided, her touch sympathetic and her voice cracking. "You bounced back from the snip as if it were nothing more than a haircut, my pretty little thing." She chuckled, but I could hear her sense of loss, knowing full well the gravity of what had been stolen from me.

"Tout guéri si vite, comme si rien d'important n'avait disparu," (*"All healed so quickly, as if nothing important had ever been there,"*) I mumbled, my voice laced with the loss of my former masculinity.

Then her eyes wandered to my present shame. "And this, mon petit clito," she crooned, wicked affection in her words as she flicked the sensitive nub. "An eight-inch monument of virility, now a delicate speck." Her fingers toyed with it, a reminder of the transformation from something grand to something...else.

I couldn't contain the heat flushing my cheeks or the bite of desire her words conjured. "... ma bite, j'ai perdu ma fière bite..." (*"... my cock, I've lost my proud cock..."*) I ached out loud, a tortured admission of what I mourned the most.

Her pace quickened, the cock plunging in and out of me with a roughness that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. She cooed about the transformation of my posterior. "Your cute little peach, once firm and unyielding, is now just a soft, jiggly pillow, always hungry for attention, to be touched, to be taken, to be of service."

There was a kindness in her tone, a loving approval of what I'd become. Her free hand smacked the soft flesh; the sound was obscene in its sharpness, and the sensation rippled into my core. "Mon cul est tellement accueillant pour tous maintenant, Maîtresse..." (*"My arse is so welcoming to all now, Mistress...,"*) I confessed breathlessly, pressing back against her, craving more of her delicious invasion.

As she drove her fingers within me with resolve, I could barely comprehend the fullness of her words. "Can you believe it, pet? Our little world turned on its axis, and nobody – not our parents, friends, or even the watchful Dr Michelle – none were any the wiser. They simply accepted it and even gleefully participated," she mused aloud. Each word was synchronised with a calculated thrust, emphasising the stark reality of our transformation.

My response came as a fragmented whisper, carried in the wake of strokes that left me trembling, "Everyone is so enthusiastic, as if everything is normal..." I panted, my voice a blend of arousal and astonishment.

Reality felt skewed, inexplicably altered so my drastic change seemed to fit perfectly within everyone's expectations. "Ils me matent, putain, ils voient ce vestige d'Adam et bandent pour défoncer Yvonne, leur nouveau jouet à baiser." (*They fucking ogle me, seeing the remnants of Adam and get hard for pounding Yvonne, their new fuck toy.*) The truth lay thick between us: that wish hadn't just remade me; it had ensnared the perceptions of all who knew me.

Mistress' relentless exploration of my depths didn't let up; the tempo matched only by the throbbing pulse of my dicklette under her rough ministration. "I found out it was all Jacob’s doing when I hunted down the author responsible for crafting this reality," she cursed through gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a sharp thrust that made me cry out.

"Merde, il ne nous possédera pas encore..." (*"Shit, he won't own us yet again..."*) I uttered with a ragged breath, the mixture of dread and thrill in my voice making it quiver. The reality of our situation was as penetrating as Adam’s magnificent tool. It was a game of chess that he played with our bodies and wills at stake.

Mistress prodded deep inside, her touch methodical and deliberate. "Pored over every word, every perverse stipulation, and meticulously made notes. I analysed every condition that needed to be fulfilled. I had to take control of the narrative to protect you, to shield us from being completely unravelled by that motherfucker’s fantasies," she announced. Each thrust was a declaration, sending spasms of delirious pleasure through my exposed form.

"Préservée par votre ingéniosité, Maîtresse..." (*"Preserved by your ingenuity, Mistress...,"*) I exhaled, my every nerve ignited by her penetrating motion.

"The party was the stage—the final act where everything would come to a head. Just moments of complete exposure to his depraved desires and our cue to wrest back control of our fate," Mistress' movements became more aggressive, sending me spiralling.

"Une scène pour notre délivrance, Maîtresse..." (*"A stage for our deliverance, Mistress...,"*) My cry was both pleasure and plea, the foreign syllables spilling from my lips laced with need.

Mistress didn’t stop her tactile onslaught, as if her determination alone would stave off the darkness Jacob had woven into our destiny. "The clock’s hand was going to be our ally—your plunge into being Jacob's bitch would last just a goddamn flash."

"Par votre volonté, je plonge et ressurgis, Maîtresse..." (*By your will, I plunge and reemerge, Mistress...*) I whispered, spinning in the whirlpool of her creating, ever her compliant, needy subject.

Mistress' unyielding fingers carved new pathways of sensation within me as she confessed, "Had last night's excesses 'manifested' too early, you’d have been gone—your head, your personality, and memories scrambled, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to allow that.”

Her rigorous pace brought me to the edge, my fragmented mind clinging to every word she uttered. "Oui, Maîtresse, vous me sauvez..." (*Yes, Mistress, you save me...,*) I cried out, lost in the relentless tide of her pleasure.

I heard her voice swell with emotion as she spoke. "I pleaded with the heavens that you might still enjoy the delights of orgasms after our new vows, and what an unbelievable relief I felt when you came in my eager mouth."

When it first happened, I could not believe it: the jerking spasms, the little erection, the sweet, sweet dribbles of your release. It happened last night, it happened during all our little sexcapades today, and even now, it defies belief – my lurid little delight is still alive," she revealed, basking in the splendour of my bliss with incredulity.

Suspended by Mistress' will alone, I could do nothing but moan in eager, delirious French, each plea a testament to my submission. "Je t'en supplie, Maîtresse, ne t'arrête pas..." (*Please, Mistress, don't stop...*)

She intensified her assault, pumping savagely within me, one hand now pulling my head tighter to breastfeed in her nipple, while her other hand, rough and possessive, returned to tormenting my ‘clitty’. "But understand this, with or without magic, this is what we are. I love watching you quake, and you adore being my plaything. Look at us, insatiable," she growled, her voice twisted with incredible affection.

"Recognise our mutual debasement and swear to me your endless love, just as I swear to you my everlasting devotion," she pronounced with such ferocity that it thrust me into a state of pure sensation; I was nothing but raw, exposed nerve endings, every fibre of my being screaming for release.

With that demand, she lifted my body to align with hers, consummating the union of desire and dominion. "Maître de mon plaisir, enfoncez-vous en moi jusqu'à ce que l'éternité s'épuise; je jure de vous aimer à jamais..." (*"Master of my pleasure, plunge into me until eternity runs dry; I swear to love you forever..."*) I implored, on the brink of an infinite collapse, my release tethered to her entirely.

Each unyielding stroke edged me closer to the abyss, her vice-like fingers wrapped around my throbbing ‘clitty’. Her unyielding grasp on my head forced me to suckle helplessly. "Now, melt—let everything go, my sweet aching flower," she commanded, her words detonating within me like a charge keyed to my soul.

"JE VIENS... AH... DIEU, MAÎTRESSE, JE ME RENDS... TU ES... AH... MON AMOUR," (*"I’M COMING... AH... GOD, Mistress, I SURRENDER... YOU ARE... AH... MY LOVE."*) I cried out, the words tearing into breathy cries, as waves of ecstasy surged through me, hurling me into a storm that fragmented me.

Then, as though struck by lightning, her control vanished with a surrendering scream. "AHHH!!... Chérie... OUI!!!... FUCK!... OUI!!!! ... MON DIEU, OUI!!!" her unrestrained, primal howl shattered the silence, picking up the fragments of my disassembled self to rend me anew as we crumbled together, utterly exhausted, joined in blissful collapse.

As my consciousness wavered on the edge of darkness, I heard Mistress' words through the fog. "Don't fret over that piece of shit, Jacob; his plans went south when you sucked his brains out, and I nailed him to the floor – out cold and clueless. Swapped his paper for mine and had you drop it in. Serves him right to choke on the poison he brewed for us."

In my delirious state, my voice weak but insistent, I whispered, "Et nous, Maîtresse?"

Her assurance was the last thing I heard before darkness enveloped me. "Don't trouble your pretty little head about us, my dear. All will be known in due time," she soothed, and I surrendered, succumbing to the embrace of oblivion and the sweet promise of her protective presence.

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