Finally he stops right behind me. One large hand settles on the small of my back — not stroking, just resting there. Heavy. Possessive. A silent reminder that I belong to him. My breath catches.

Without warning he fists my hair and yanks my head back, the other hand grabbing a full handful of my soft breast. “Correction Two starts now,” he growls, voice low and dangerous.

He tightens the first screw on the clover clamp. Sharp, sweet pain blooms through my nipple and shoots straight down to my clit like lightning. I whimper loudly, the sound cracking in my throat. He does the second clamp just as slowly, letting...