FSE

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For the man who had everything, excitement was rare. Because Clark could leap tall buildings in a single bound and then make that irrelevant by flying, he found it hard to find anything physically challenging in his life. The world’s subjugation held his interest for a time, though if he were being honest Bruce did most of the heavy planning in that regard.

But upon seeing recordings from within the Hall of Chains, Clark couldn’t help but feel giddy at the table. The room lit up with a wide screen, showing a single woman stampeding through their forces like a bull chucking rodeo clowns. No, a bull didn’t do the tanned beauty justice. Her long wavy black hair reminded Clark more of a horse mane. A wild mare in need of a firm hand.

“Still annoyed I woke you up early?” Bruce asked, sliding a steaming coffee cup across the table. Clark gulped without thought, unhindered by the blistering heat. Like every cup Bruce made himself, it tasted awful. Why he didn’t have Selina make it Clark would never understand.

“Uh huh,” Clark watched the woman continue to fight. Though difficult to parse thanks to the recording, he noted how efficiently she weaved through gunfire. As if dancing. She made a trained marksman like Floyd look like a complete amateur. Bullets she couldn’t dodge were ricocheted off her bracers back to their point of origin. Seeing her rip Victor Stone’s arm cannon off filled the last checkbox in his mind. Speed, skill, and strength, his favorite trio.

In a blink, the fight was over. Now the mysterious beauty stood in a wide room, locked in a pillory made of what had to be nth metal. Nothing else could be smithed so thin but hold a metahuman with super strength. Clark repurposed it for that reason.

With a wave of Bruce’s hand, a golden lasso raised up from a secret compartment in the middle of the table. “Outside of the nth metal restraints, this rope is the only other thing that bound her. It’s how Steve subdued her for the rest of the processing. I couldn’t find anything on my instruments so I asked Kent to look at it. He says it has powerful magical properties.”

Clark’s excitement dampened at hearing magic. The mystic arts were a frustration for both men, but for Bruce, it was no surprise. He was, no matter how much he stretched it, mortal. Clark was something else entirely. Magic seemed to be the only thing beyond his understanding that could hurt him. To rely on it meant relying on something more than himself.

Bruce pointed to the bound woman on screen, “She doesn’t speak any English. Only Greek, an ancient variant of the modern dialect if I had to gather. Verbally training her will be difficult.”

They didn’t need to verbally train her, at least not at first. Sure, horses and other animals needed verbal cues but they never understood the terms thrown about, just what their owners intended. But before those could be utilized, a wild horse needed to be broken in. Boxed up and taught that its freedom is in the hands of someone better.

His friend smiled as Clark stood up. “I’d take the rope.”

“Don’t need it,” Clark said, stripping his collared shirt off. “It’s clear that she’s foreign to our world, and given her violence it only makes sense that she understands strength. So I’ll conquer her like Heracles conquered Hippolyta.”

If Bruce had anything else to say, Clark ignored it. He’d stripped down to nothing as he left, replacing his boxers with a leather thong fit for the occasion. It only seemed fair that he combats a warrior of her prowess in equal terms, even if there was nothing equal about them. There was no better way to learn one’s place in the world than to crash against it.

In person she was magnificent. Muscles tensed against a pillory that showed signs of bending. Her black hair cascaded over a sweat-drenched face where two blue eyes beamed hatred at him. Clark couldn’t wait to make them see reason. His reason.

She swore at him. Not that he understood ancient Greek, but the hatred on her face was clear. Hatred, confusion, and a hint of betrayal she was growing to accept. Part of him wondered what her history with Steve was, but he could ask him later. Other things took precedence. “Bruce, release the restraints.”

“You’re sure?” Bruce’s voice chimed into the commlink nestled in his ear. “They’re the only things holding her.”

“I’m sure. They’re going to break eventually.” He’d like it if they did. Another rampage gave him an excuse to correct her further. Sadly, nth metal was rare, expensive, and had a long recycling process.

Though Bruce said nothing Clark heard his friend sigh. He smirked, watching her cuffs and bindings pop off. He expected her to stand still in confusion if only for a moment, to question why her freedom was given so suddenly.

Instead, she charged at him without hesitation. Clark’s senses were beyond the means of mortal men. He could follow people like Barry Allen when everything else slowed down for the scarlet speedster (catching him, however, took effort). Though she moved faster than he expected, Clark knew he could dodge her. But what would that tell her? She would only swing again and again until she tired herself out. Wrestling an exhausted mare held no real challenge. So he waited, watching her balled fist inch closer to his face with the intent to showcase that she couldn’t hurt him.

Knuckles pressed into his cheek. Weight shifted his neck. His eyes widened while force pushed his legs back. In one second he was in the air, the next he crashed through the wall ten feet from where he stood. Then the second wall, followed by a third.

It didn’t hurt at first. Then a numbing pain exploded through his right cheek. The pain he’d not felt since a bully beat him before his powers ignited. Aimlessly, he looked at the ceiling while trying to process the sheer amount of force it’d take to send him not only flying through three two-foot thick concrete walls but to make his cheek pulse.

Clark hopped up and flew back into the room to find Diana missing. Seeing a second hole he followed her path of destruction. In but a minute of contemplation he allowed her to make a mess of the Fortress of Servitude. Superhearing picked up the sound of ancient Greek, two pairs of fists upon flesh, and the sudden struggle for air.

With blurring speed he arrived, hovering inches off the floor before the newest charge and his most loyal slaves, Kara and Barda. Kara, the smallest of the three women in both height and muscle, fell to her knees in his presence and bowed her head in silence. Barda did not, standing a foot above him. Normally he’d give her a firm stare to remind her to kneel, but given that she was holding the renegade metahuman in a chokehold he kept his gaze centered on both of them.

“What are you both doing here?” Clark asked with barely a whisper. He unclenched his fists at Kara’s shivering tone, surprised to find them so tight to begin with.

“Forgive us, master. Master Bruce asked for us to arrive separately in case your introduction with this,” she bit her lip and tensed herself to not look at Diana, “the woman went foul. She seemed to assume we would join her escape upon seeing us, which gave Barda a chance to grab her.”

He heard her heartbeat pounding as it damn well should. She dared follow another man’s orders. She was his slave, his property. She should listen to him and no one else. But the longer he stared, vision caked in red, the more he noted her still demeanor. The shivering tone vanished and a blush crossed her face in the few moments she looked up. Clark took a deep breath as the floor reached his feet. The pounding ceased.

“Thank you,” He said. Shame crept inside him and mocked the man of steel over his anger and pride. His slave was loyal, one of his first. She would not betray him unless it was for his own safety. Being of his bloodline, she was one of the few who had such luxury to tether him if he went too far. Baring the obvious difference in their power.

Barda’s stoic nature strained under the slave warrior’s strength. Clark watched the New God’s veins pulse as she hunched over, forcing Diana to the ground. Each kick from Diana cracked the ground but Barda did not yield. She had been trained to yield no woman.

The woman in Barda’s limbs had gone limp. Her heartbeat was stable. “Barda, take her back to the chamber and relock her in the pillory. Then you and Kara are to return home. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

A woman of few words before her enslavement, Barda nodded with silence. Clark watched her and Kara take the unconscious woman back, waiting till they were out of sight to peer down at what remained of the thong destroyed by his erection. Returning to Bruce for the lasso he bounced around ways to reward Kara for her actions. Perhaps he’d let her watch and play with herself while he enjoyed Lois later, rather than just have her clean his cock with her tongue.

Bruce said nothing upon his return. The complacent look on his face told Clark enough as he took the rope.

Barda and Kara stayed close upon Clark’s return, the former still holding Diana in her grip. Awake again, Diana swore at Clark. He twirled the lasso twice, the first to practice an old skill and the second to see her hatred boil. “Release her,” he ordered and Barda obeyed.

He did not wait for her to charge. In the split-second it took for the pillory to hit the floor, Clark wrapped the golden lasso around her wrists and ankles, then latching them together in a hogtie. The bindings glowed and she screamed in fury. She shook and strained but the ropes ignored her struggles.

“Stop,” Clark pressed his foot to her skull at the command. Not enough to hurt, he hated hurting his property, just to let her know her position. Immediately she froze as if the words themselves compelled her to obey.

By her luxurious black hair, he pulled her up. She spat at him. An idea occurred as he stared at the lob of spit over his foot. “Lick it up,” he ordered, lowering her to the mess. Through grit teeth she moaned, tensing her body whilst the lasso glowed brighter and brighter until her tongue escaped and lapped her up her defiance.

She didn’t attack once he unbound her legs. He assumed her arms were the clincher in the rope’s forced obedience. Just in case, Clark looped the rope around her neck to make a leash before commanding her to kneel. Holding her binding taut, the man of steel pressed his hardened cock against her mouth. “Open.” Fruitless struggles made his cock harder as Diana’s beautiful lips opened for his rod.

With one hand on her skull, he sank his rod down her throat. No pistoning, just a single forward motion. Her gag reflex needed training judging by the choking sounds. A few nights with a trainer gag would fix it.

“No teeth.” Not that she could hurt him. Stronger beasts had broken their fangs upon his flesh. Blue eyes sparked with pure hatred up at him. He smiled back, appreciating how Diana’s face looked as a cocksheath. Cute in how her nose pressed up to the base of his cock. He waited while watching. Waited and waited until her eyes rolled back and her struggles returned.

“Off,” Clark commanded when her face turned blue. His slave slipped off and spat at the ground, gasping for air so hard she started coughing. “Do you get it now?” He said, not caring that she couldn’t understand him. “Your life is in my hands. I will be a good master, but I am a master first. And a master takes what they want.” He reminded her of this three more times, each a second or more unbearably longer than the last. When she hacked and gagged for air at the final release, he pushed her forward, “Bend over.”

Circling behind her Clark caught wind of a few names she cried out. Hera, Aphrodite, Artemis. Diana spoke of them with the vigor of someone who knew they were real. He wondered if she were a time traveler, a warrior from ancient Greece brought to the modern day. There was no need for warriors like her in the utopia he and Bruce had built. But there was always room for horses.

Cheeks spread, and he pressed his saliva-drenched cock against her pert pucker. She gasped and called out to her gods. They didn’t answer as he pushed inside. “A virgin?” He mused, inching deeper and deeper into her ass. The tight muscles squeezed involuntarily. With time, they would squeeze for his pleasure.

Now he showed her his strength. Each thrust came with a stronger push. “You worship old gods, so you must know old stories. Do you know of Heracles and Hippolyta?” She soured her face and spat at him, which earned a heavy slap across her ass. “I suppose you do.”

With a yank he had her neck in his arm, silencing squeals he couldn’t understand. Short wheezing breaths passed through grit teeth while he caressed her muscular form. Soft and squishy, yet firm in revulsion. She’d grow to accept him in time. All his slaves did.

Carrying her into the air, the two metahumans fucked over the ground as Clark whispered. “You are no Hippolyta. You are a wild horse, unable to see your true potential. We will mold you into the perfect mare. A steed to carry us to a new dawn. I’ve got the perfect farm in Kansas to house you in. You’ll love it.”

At his climax he pulled out, twisting around in the blink of an eye to cover her face in his seed. Teary and cum covered eyes stared daggers at him. “I can’t wait to see what Bruce comes up with for you. Until then, rest easy, my steed.”

She collapsed as he left, her cries closer to a snuffed candle than the inferno from before.

***

Clark, in Bruce’s opinion, was too soft.

There was certainly a time and place to prove physical dominance over a slave, but not everyone was as strong as the Kryptonian. No matter how hard Bruce trained physically, he could only reach the apex of human physical prowess in a variety of skills. So to train metahuman female slaves, he needed to be creative.

Thanks to a leather blindfold and an nth metal ring-gag, he only had Diana’s incoherent grunts to listen to while he perused through his equipment. After his friend had his way with her, Bruce moved the mysterious meta to a different location, deep within one of the many cave networks he used. Clark liked to call them ‘batcaves’ but Bruce ignored it. There were bats, but he had pest control to deal with them.

Barda stood by, hands at her side. Bruce’s training taught him to pick up the smallest of details against anyone. The tiny beads of sweat, the way her eyes darted toward Diana when she believed he wasn’t looking, and the tight knuckles. He let her nerves run their course before granting her permission to speak, as always without looking at him.

“I worry you are taking too great a risk.”

And that simplicity was why Bruce found Barda better as a slave. He nodded, knowing the risks and knowing she’d protect him with her life.

Ignoring Barda to marvel at Diana, Bruce found her remarkably still. Heavy cables spread her legs and arms apart, successfully holding against her strenuous thrashing when she awoke. He’d originally designed them for Clark when he regarded his best friend as a threat. Rarely had they seen worthwhile use than today.

Unlike Barda, whose large muscles made her more of a bodybuilder, Diana’s came more chiseled. Like a statue given life and purpose. The wrong purpose, but he could not blame the creator for making such a mistake. If he did, Bruce would have nothing to improve upon.

Blind, mute, and deaf thanks to the earplugs, Diana did nothing but wait for whatever torment was next. He could tell she expected Clark, the Heracles to come and defeat her again. Her fists clenched with what Bruce could only assume was anticipation for the rematch. But Bruce was no Heracles. He was closer to Odysseus if he had to compare himself, clever and inquisitive.

Through the many slaves he’d trained, two things were important. The first was to make them learn their bodies were not their own anymore. Any sense of personal space and autonomy had to be eradicated. The second was to find their thresholds for both pain and pleasure. Once those were discovered, punishments and rewards could be set.

Bruce ran a finger across her naked body, dragging his nail to make a thin white line against tanned flesh that vanished as quickly as it came. Diana thrashed into her bindings, straining the cables but they wouldn’t break. Taking his time Bruce traced over her abdominal muscles, her biceps, neck, and legs. Anyone with such muscle had some pride in them, something to twist against her in her powerless state.

“You were once a warrior. But now, now you are a prize.” Bruce said to himself.

Her back arched when he grabbed her breasts. Twisting her nipples he heard a gagged swear and noted clenched fists. Tentative brushing of this thumb against them stifled her breathing. “Sensitive here. Good.” He made a note, then another once finished with the soles of her feet. Those spots gained the best reactions.

Taking a specially designed flogger to Barda, he pointed her to Diana and gave one simple command. “Punish her.” Barda’s strength was enough to rupture any standard leather upon impact, but Bruce’s reinforced flogger snapped like thunder across the mysterious metawoman’s back. From the sly grin across Barda’s face with each strike, he suspected she liked it. Being a taskmaster from Apokolips had drilled some things into her.

Diana did not. Wrathful wailing and clenched limbs strained her bindings with each thuddy smack across her body. From her tits to her ass and everything in between. Like he suspected, her tits got the best reaction. Louder with a thin nth metal rod. He’d have preferred wood, but that’d shatter under both Barda’s strength and Diana’s skin.

Painful pink and red streaks lined over the tanned body, leaving paths of pain of which Bruce’s finger trailed. Her bare feet elicited a high-pitched wail, but he saw no sign of surrender. The more pain inflicted, the more she struggled and threatened to snap her bindings. Not even high-voltage cattle prods made her surrender.

“She’s certainly a warrior,” Bruce said. Barda nodded, putting the prod down. He pondered for a moment, carefully listening to the background noise of Diana’s haggard breaths. Seeing an idea, he pointed Barda to the slave’s neck. “Strangle her. Let go when I say.”

Fingers strong enough to crack open walnuts without effort wrapped around Diana’s neck. Barda squeezed slowly, giving the slave ample time to struggle and panic at the loss of air. Having watched her submit underneath Clark’s cock, Bruce waited until her body stopped spasming but her breathing remained strained. “Let go,” he commanded. Diana gasped for air at Barda’s release but she did not scream or wrench away her bindings.

He groped her breast. At her growl, he ordered Barda again. Diana’s loss of breath froze her body, leaving her compliant as he toyed with whatever part he desired. Repeatedly he had Barda release and hold the slave’s neck, rewarding her with air whenever she refused to rebel under his touch.

“We’ll need to make an nth metal collar for her," Bruce said aloud in his journal entry. "One built to expand and contract upon command. Pain won’t keep her in line. If anything, it encourages her to fight back. Cut off her breathing and she submits. Will need to properly set her up for desensitization.”

Though he turned to his computer, Bruce caught a glimpse of Diana’s fondling from the corner of his eye. Through all her menace and strength, Barda had a soft touch to her. Unwanted, but soft. From how her hands grabbed and pulled Diana’s breasts, to her lips kissing the woman’s nap just before biting it. She would do so for hours, eagerly teasing every sensitive part until her victim was begging for more. Bruce ignored it for his work, wanting a better tool to punish Diana in case things went wrong. From what he’d seen, they would.

Metal snapped behind him. Bruce turned just in time to see five tense knuckles hover over his face. Barda caught Diana by her wrist and then tossed her over. “Master Bruce, find shelter.” The warrior-slave shouted, jumping forward only to collide with Diana mid-flight.

Bruce did not run. A master didn’t hide when slaves rebelled. Confident in Barda, Bruce watched the two women fight as he grabbed the lasso. In strength, they were evenly matched, and Barda had years of gladiatorial bouts under her. The tall woman caught both Diana’s arms and swerved behind her, locking them around her waist.

Diana flew. Barda couldn’t fly nor keep the woman on the ground, leaving her to dangle from her wrists and then kicked off. Seeing his chance, Bruce let the lasso fly over Diana’s head. With a yank, it tightened over her neck. She crashed to the floor, swearing in Greek.

He halted Barda’s charge with a raised palm. Diana clasped the rope with both hands but did not pull. Her arms strained but no force could be mustered. Bruce pulled the golden threads taut. “If you wish to be free, defeat me.” He spread his legs to take a stance, waiting for her charge.

Breathing heavily Diana surged forward. Arms up and hands ready to crush his head like an olive. Her exhaustion cost Diana speed as Bruce weaved through the first swipe, twirling the rope around her arms to rope their remaining strength.

He looped it around her legs next, locking her calves to her thighs. Like with Clark, she raged into the bindings but her inhuman strength vanished. Theories bubbled in Bruce’s mind as he coiled the lasso around her neck, stopping upon realizing the rope was far longer than he measured. The end of the rope did not come as he tied her down, continuing to stretch even as he finished immobilizing her.

Taking a strand of the lasso he left her in place and walked off. The rope continued to grow, stopping at fifteen feet away and only because he wanted to pull Diana closer. Sour eyes glanced over the strands. “Magic,” he muttered disdainfully. It was too useful to ignore.

“My apologies for failing to subdue her, Master Bruce,” Barda bowed her head to the floor. Her back muscles tensed in preparation for punishment. Bruce sighed and let her stand, having no interest in punishing the warrior. She would be, but that was for later.

Earplugs had fallen out in the tussle so she heard his next command clearly. “Stop struggling.” His words carried the same authority as he expected but, like with Clark, she obeyed when bound. A limitless rope that bound the strongest metahuman woman he’d seen and made her obey instructions she did not understand. Deep in thought, Bruce pressed his boot against her scalp. She muttered to her gods tearfully under her breath.

The command lasted even when unbinding her legs. Bruce kept one loop of rope around her neck, noting how her face furrowed as he began lining the golden lasso against her skin. Years of practice made him an expert in Japanese rope bondage, so a simple shibari harness was child's play.

It was new to her. Her face flared as the golden rope knotted around her muscular body. A diamond pattern crossed over her stomach while ropes better separated her breasts. With her arms bound together at the elbows and wrists, he handed the remaining cord of rope to Barda.

“Take her to the lobby,” Bruce latched the blindfold and open-mouth gag as he spoke, “Everyone is free to touch her body. They can even piss in her mouth, just be sure she is felt up and used. No one is allowed to fuck her. Is that clear?”

Barda nodded and pulled Diana. She did not budge. “You have to command her to follow. You hold the rope.” The big woman blushed, nodded again, and issued the command.

“Follow, whore.”

“Wait,” Bruce held his hand up. Grabbing the collar he designed, he handed Barda a small remote and then latched the thin metal across Diana’s neck. “If she shows mental resistance, press this button. It’ll cut off her airflow. Don’t kill her.”

He watched her leave with Diana in tow, then watched from camera feeds. Reclining in his chair, Bruce smiled as the resilient woman of mystery stood in the lobby, naked save for the rope she brought tied into the perfect harness around her body. Not a single person ignored her. Hundreds of hands groped her body, twisted her nipples, and even pulled at the ropes to rube the bindings against her cunt. Her forced-open maw became a receptacle for saliva and piss. Tears streamed from behind the blindfold but she followed commands. Any resistance turned her face purple thanks to the collar. Barda smiled. He could not blame her.

“Two weeks,” he said to himself, “Two weeks and we will see where you are.”

***

If Diana were awake, Clark knew she’d look at him the same way he did when he blasted heat from his eyes. Thankfully, she could not and was unconscious on the trip to his frozen fortress of servitude. There he let her rest in an actual bed, still with the lasso tied of course. Being optimistic was never an excuse to be a fool.

For two weeks he’d planned the evening. Perfecting down to the tiniest detail. Sitting in the corner of the room, Clark watched her stir awake. Fear, confusion, relief, and apathy crossed her face in the span of several seconds, the last one directed over at him. He grinned. Better apathy than rage.

“Sleep well?” Clark hovered over. Reaching for her arms he found that she did not pull away from him. Her lessons under Bruce must have taught her well enough, made more clear by the red imprinted marks with the thin steel collar around that beautiful neck. It was all that remained once he loosened the lasso, leaving her to look at him with weary confused eyes.

“Come,” he held out his hand, fingers gently outstretched, “you deserve a special day after your turmoil.” With hesitancy she took it. He let her make every step to follow her, knowing now not to pull her along. Not if he wanted her trust, her faith.

The water drenched her, muscles twitching at the warmth it provided once she stepped out. He ignored the mess she made, offering a towel instead.

“May I?” He asked, holding out a brush for her hair. Diana said nothing but sat and offered it. As wonderful as it felt to pull it, there was beauty in letting it rest against his palm. The bristle of the brush ran through the flowing mane. Even with her torments swore it shined. Truly a magnificent creature. One whose heart rate rose steadily the more he brushed. Two weeks of molestation and breaking yet she still clenched her fists at him, only now she tried to hide it between her supple legs.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Clark led her to a long table where a single bowl of stew sat. The steam brushed her face as he pushed her chair in. “I’m not the best cook, but I like to think I can follow a recipe. All the ingredients are from Greece. I made sure to personally pick them.”

Three utensils sat beside the bowl. One spoon, a fork, and a knife. Clark watched her hand move with care, hovering over the knife with enough seconds to seem casual before holding the spoon. With one blow to cool the spoonful, she tasted it and looked pleased. Then she clutched the bowl with both hands, brought it to her lips, and guzzled down.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Clark laughed, turning to get more. “I normally have Kara or Lois cook, but it’s nice to do it on my own. Meditative in a way. Everything in its proper place to create a delicious concoction.”

He heard her before turning, pretending not to take notice in the instant she closed the gap. The table flipped, sending the soup high into the air. The glint of her knife prevented him from following. He smiled, standing still to let her strike.

First, the bowl broke against the floor. Then the knife blade.

“I didn’t consider you dumb, but you keep proving me wrong.” Clark watched her eyes widen in realization as they stared at the knife held in her shaking hands. “No one needs a knife for soup.”

She lunged but he had enough. Grabbing her by the throat, Clark brought her to the wall and held her five feet off the ground. What thrashing and cursing he expected fell short. She just glared, hands hanging free without any need to bind them. The metal knife’s handle bounced below them.

“Good, you’ve learned.” Clark’s lips touched hers without resistance, his tongue wrestling Diana’s in her defeat. A finger looped around the thin collar and, for a moment, he considered tearing it off. But she looked good with a collar. Perhaps he’d find one more fitting.

In his chambers, he tossed her over the bed shaped like his family crest. His cock stood erect and his hands did not wait to spread the woman’s legs. Bruce had shaved her, leaving an open field for his dick to lay bare. No more foreplay was needed.

Her nails ripped against his bedsheets as he sank his rod into her, claiming everything she had. Short breaths and shivered pulsing muscles riled her body. Her warmth welcomed him with hatred in her eyes, egging him on. She did not look away, even as he held her possessively.

“You’ll beg for it in time.” Strong hands clamped her hips, arching her for a full thrust that made his newest slave gasp. “Master, cock, love, these will be the first words you will understand and bury into your soul, forever.” Blood seeped from her bitten lips. He pounded hard but slow, letting her feel every part of him fill her in and out. His fortress walls carried the slapping sounds of his hips bucking faster and faster, followed by foreign wails of shameful pleasure and pleading cries. The former drowned out the latter.

Her nipples were his to squeeze, twist, and pull. Her lips were his to bite and kiss. Her womb was his to fill and fuck, whichever way he pleased. As were her other holes. The ass especially, he would take great care to make that ass her favorite hole.

Tears streamed her face but he did not stop. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling her warm body into him. Still, he didn’t stop, even as his first surge filled her. “That’s it,” he whispered, leaning in with his thrusts, “Let it all out. You are safe as my property. No one will dare hurt you, and I will only redirect you if you fail.” Unlike his others, Clark hoped she continued to fail. She could take the lessons he truly wanted to give.