It's almost 9:30 when Tara wakes up this Saturday morning. Marc has already been gone for some time, but she notices that he has left an envelope for her on the dining room table.

For the young woman, this kind of missive is always a source of anxiety and excitement. By habit, she knows it's not a romantic note, but rather a to-do list for an upcoming assignment.

Holding her breath, she opens the envelope and dutifully reads the instructions. As she'd suspected, it's a list, short and to the point, leaving her in no doubt as to what she's in for tonight.

This anticipation of the punishment to come already sends a shiver down her spine and a warmth in her lower abdomen.

It's going to be a long day until Marc returns. But one of the instructions is very specific: she has no right to pleasure herself whatever her state of arousal. Fortunately for her, she has enough to occupy her mind in the meantime.

The tasks ordered by Marc keep Tara busy for most of the day. Finally, when she's finished, she goes upstairs to get ready.

First, a long, hot shower, during which she shaves her pubic area, leaving only a thin triangle of a reddish brush on her Venus mount, just above her vulva. 

When she's done, she dries off and applies her makeup. A light line under the eyes to lengthen her almond-shaped gaze, a little pink on the cheeks to lift her alabaster skin, and finally, she sublimates her lips with a blood-red lipstick.

Doing her hair takes almost no time at all. She pulls her long flaming hair back into a ponytail, which she hangs high on her head, leaving the nape of her neck virtually uncovered.

Finally, she gets dressed. Here too, Marc's instructions are very precise. However, Tara decides to ignore them, for two reasons. The first is that she doesn’t like his choice. The second: not obeying her husband's instructions will increase her punishment. This can only be a good thing.

Once ready, Tara heads back down to the living room. One last check to make sure everything's in place, then she moves into her position. Her husband should be here any minute now. All she has to do now is wait. This moment of anticipation, of complete submission, gives her a familiar and oh-so-pleasant warmth.

***

When Marc finally gets home, he's delighted to see the vision he's been waiting for since he left in the morning. Tara on her knees, in the middle of the living room, wearing only her underwear. Back straight, legs spread, hands on thighs, palms open to the sky, head bowed, she's in the perfect submissive position.

As Marc moves on, he realizes, of course, that she hasn't completely followed his instructions. In place of the white lace bustier and matching panties, she's chosen to wear a dark green ensemble.

So, sure, the ensemble matches her eyes, bringing out the radiance of her satiny skin and flaming hair. But it wasn't his master's choice. He admits, however, that the cut of the tonga and the very small bra perfectly emphasize her magnificent forms and highlight her bountiful breasts.

Her hairstyle also differs from his requests. Instead of a braid, she opted for a ponytail. He makes a mental note of these two mistakes, which will be the subject of further punishment.

Without saying a word, Marc enters the living room and continues to inspect compliance with his instructions. The large table has been pushed back against the bay window, freeing up more space in the center of the room. The large, deep armchair in the study has been brought down from the bedroom and now sits in front of the liquor bar.

He finishes his tour by checking the items on the table. They're all there, impeccably arranged. Instinctively, he knows that the mere preparation of this session must have excited his young wife to no end, and worried her too.

Having completed his check, Marc returns to stand in front of Tara. The young woman keeps her head down, her gaze fixed on her husband's shoes.

"Your punishment hasn't even started yet and you're already disobeying me," he observes wryly. "You know this is going to cost you."

"Yes, Master," replies Tara with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Tonight, I'm not punishing you because you've made mistakes. Tonight, I'm punishing you because I want to. I'm punishing you to remind you who the Master is here. I don't want what happened at the manor to lead you to believe anything else."

He pauses to let the information sink into his wife's mind.

"Tonight, there will be no handcuffs, no ropes. No shackles. I want you to submit totally to the punishments that will be meted out to you. I want you docile and willing. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," nods Tara.

"Perfect. Let's begin, then."

He moves to the armchair, sitting in the back of the seat.

Tara knows the routine perfectly well. She gets up and walks over to the armrest on his right. Then, obediently, she pulls her panties down to her knees before leaning forward. Settling herself across her husband's thighs, she rests her head on the opposite armrest.

Her outstretched legs no longer touch the floor, forcing her back to arch and positioning her buttocks perfectly on the right armrest. Finally, she crosses her hands at the small of her back, gripping her wrists.

In this position, she is totally offered to her husband.

Her breathing quickens as she feels his large, rough hands caress her bottom. The fingers caress the tops of her thighs, appreciate the firmness of her muscular buttocks, and then insinuate themselves for a moment into the hollow of her intimacy. They graze her delicate lips, already detecting definite moisture.

She herself is already feeling the warmth in her lower abdomen. She knows her body is anticipating the pain and pleasure that comes with it, and her sex is gradually filling with love juice.

Marc caresses her for a few more seconds, amusing himself by making her shiver. Then, suddenly, his hand comes down hard on her bouncing posterior. The first resounding slap catches Tara off guard, causing her to cry out in surprise rather than pain.

The blows follow in quick succession, alternating right and left buttocks. The sharp slaps echo around the room, soon accompanied by the victim's first sobs. Marc's large hands come down hard on Tara's muscular bottom, making her whole being vibrate.

The rhythm is fast, and sustained. It's a warm-up, for him and for her. Firmly gripping her wrists, Tara forces herself to keep her hands in the hollow of her back. Removing them would cost her more slaps, she knows.

She also concentrates all her willpower on keeping her legs straight, not wiggling in all directions despite the rain of blows raining down on her backside and the pain increasing with each impact.

Like a good master, Marc knows how to recognize and appreciate the efforts made by his submissive. But that doesn't dampen his ardor. And he continues to pound away at her for many more minutes.

He doesn't stop until the buttocks under his eyes have turned a lovely shade of pink. With her head on the armrest, Tara sobs nervously, her face bathed in tears. Against her thighs, Marc can feel her chest rise sporadically.

"Good," he appreciates. "Now that we've got that butt nice and warmed up, let's get on with it."

At these words, Tara straightens up and stands tall beside the armrest, her hands still clasped at the small of her back.

"The hairbrush," he indicates simply.

Tara obeys immediately, her panties down to her knees, she waddles over to the table and returns with the hairbrush. Bowing her head respectfully, she hands it to Marc.

Entirely made of wood, with a flat back, the brush is ordinary. However, in the right hands, it can become a fearsome instrument of torture. And Marc is a specialist in this field.

Resuming her basic position beside the armrest, Tara obediently awaits her husband's instructions. With a mocking smile on his lips, he plays the brush between his hands. Then the fingers of his right hand reach between Tara's thighs, caress her tender, sensitive flesh, and delicately open her labia. The young woman gives in, emitting a slight moan as the fingers continue their exploration until they tease her flesh bud, gorged with desire.

Marc spends a few moments teasing the taut clitoris, triggering electric shocks through his wife's body with every touch of the fleshy knob.

"In place," he finally orders as Tara begins to undulate her hips under his caresses.

The young woman immediately pulls herself together and resumes the same position as for the hand spanking. Marc starts by caressing her buttocks, admiring the pinkish hue of her bottom, contrasting with the rest of her white skin. Then he glides the spikes of the brush along the bouncing hemispheres.

A touch that makes Tara shudder and stiffen. Instinctively, she holds her breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. She doesn't have long to wait. The first blow lands with a dull clatter, causing her to jerk her head back and cry out in pain.

Marc waits a few seconds for his wife's flesh to soak up the pain and, just before it fades completely, he strikes again.

Five times, ten times, twenty times, he repeats this sequence. Tara's agonized cries echo through the living room. Tears stream from her big green eyes. Her buttocks are on fire. From the small of her back to the top of her thighs, she feels nothing but an excruciating burn.

Despite this, she doesn't struggle, she remains as stoic as possible, knowing full well that the slightest sign of rebellion, trying to avoid the blows, will be punished even more severely.

Satisfied with his work, Marc encourages Tara to stand up. Once on her feet, he gives her back the brush, which she leaves to replace on the table. As she returns to him, he beckons her to kneel before him. The young woman obeys instantly, settling between her master's thighs, head bowed, legs spread, hands crossed behind her back.

"Let's get to work," he said simply, indicating his crotch.

Docile, Tara hurriedly undoes his belt. Then she slides the pants down his legs. Finally, she carefully removes the boxer shorts. Freed from his cloth prison, Marc's sex springs up, erect and throbbing. Immediately, Tara opens her lips, runs her tongue under the taut shaft and lets it slide into her mouth.

"No hands," Marc intimates as he feels his wife's nimble fingers in contact with his bursa.

Obeying the order, Tara crosses her hands behind her back again and starts nodding her head rhythmically, working to take ever more of the turgid member into her mouth. Her tongue is equally active, gliding along the stick of flesh, caressing the tip of the throbbing penis.

With his head tipped back in the armchair, Marc indulges in these delicious caresses. He revels in those soft lips sucking him in, the warm touch of her mouth as she slides him deeper and deeper into her, and that nimble tongue teasing him relentlessly.

Marc slowly thrusts his hips forward. The warm bulb of his penis bounces inside Tara's mouth. The young woman winces in pain as her husband's thrusts become fuller and more pronounced.

Yet, obediently, Tara's tongue darts out to lap the fleshy stick from base to head. In her mouth, the member has assumed enormous proportions. Waving in all directions, it strikes her palate with force before sinking deep into her throat.

New tears well up in Tara's eyes as the flesh monster rasps the walls of her throat, stretching her mouth to the limit. The pain in her distended jaws is unbearable, but she continues anyway, knowing full well that giving up or complaining would be even worse.

Marc's moans grow muffled, the rhythm of his hips quickens, suddenly he freezes and his whole body suddenly contracts. His member sinks one last time between the submissive lips. The huge head quivers spasmodically and suddenly expels a stream of hot, sticky semen into the young woman's throat.

Tara gladly accepts this offering, working determinedly to swallow the salty semen that fills her mouth. Flashing a delighted smile, Marc watches her as she works, with gentle strokes of her tongue, to clean his slowly softening sex.

"Perfect," he compliments her. "Now that you're all warmed up, we can get down to business."

Leaving his chair, he invites her to get up too and accompany him. Docile, Tara obeys. Marc has her stand in the middle of the room, then completely removes her panties and bra.

"Into position," he commands.

Tara nods in agreement. Accustomed to this command, she spreads her legs wide and crosses her fingers behind her head, keeping her elbows spread. Then she arches her back, pushing her chest forward, and tips her head back.

Selecting a new instrument on the table, Marc begins to turn slowly around her, admiring the curves of her body: her high, generous breasts, her flat belly, her slim waist, her rounded buttocks.

Tara flinches as she feels a wooden spike running up her calves and thighs. It takes her a moment to identify the object. The hissing sound followed by the burning, tingling sensation at the top of her thighs is confirmation. It's the birch she's made this afternoon that has just stung her thighs, leaving three magnificent crimson trails.

Marc plays the instrument between his fingers. Three long, flexible elder branches tied together, carefully stripped of their leaves, but still retaining the lugs of their buds. A simple object, frighteningly effective, and able to cause unparalleled pain.

The young woman's breathing quickens as Marc circles her, whistling the birch through the air. A new burn and thousands of tingles assail her, this time along her left flank.

Like a predator with its prey, Marc plays with her. Coming and going around her, he strikes at the most unexpected moment.

With her naked body fully exposed, Tara can't escape the blows that come her way. The spiky branches sting her flesh, leaving painful red marks on her alabaster skin. Thighs, buttocks, back, belly, flanks, no part of her body is spared.

Each impact is accompanied by a high-pitched cry of pain, and tears roll down the young woman's grimacing face once again. Full-strength, wrist-slap, Marc varies his blows and targets, preventing Tara from anticipating anything and forcing her to stay focused to maintain her position.

A howl echoed through the living room. Following the curve of her right breast, the birch traces three crimson lines to the tip of her nipple, triggering an electric shock throughout her being. But she barely has time to register the information before a second blow slams across her loins, immediately followed by a third that catches her in the crotch, igniting her lower abdomen.

The excruciating pain makes her bend her knees for a moment, but she quickly pulls herself together and regains her initial position. Panting, her breath half taken away by the pain, Tara moans and sobs, her body shaking with nervous spasms.

With a smile on his face, Marc continues to whistle the birch, lingering mainly on his victim's breasts. The branches imprint their crimson marks on the young woman's pale skin, leaving painful streaks across the bouncing nipples and giving the rosy nipples a glowing hue.

Despite the pain twisting her loins, Tara forced herself to maintain her position. Her breasts ignite under the blows, a mixture of burning and electric discharge that gradually provokes a surge of pleasure inside her. She can feel the moisture in her intimacy, her nipples hardening and waves of pleasure rising from her lower abdomen.

Knowing his wife perfectly well, Marc spots the change in her attitude. Through the sobs, he perceives a few timid moans of pleasure.

"Too soon," he murmurs to himself.

The birch falls crosswise on the offered breasts. Four crisscrossing blows were delivered at full power. The searing pain muffles Tara's cry of agony in her throat. She falls to her knees, hands folded over her burning breasts. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Tears well up in her eyes.

When the pain finally subsides, after a few seconds, all she can do is moan and realize her situation. She has abandoned her position. She's going to pay the price. She knows it.

With imploring eyes, she raises her head to Marc. He just looks at her, his face a mask of coldness.

"First failure of the evening," he comments coldly. "I've got the perfect punishment for that. Stand up. Same position."

Tara obeys, trembling, and resumes her original position in the middle of the room. Marc takes the opportunity to caress and kiss her. His lips run down her neck, lingering at the junction of her collarbone, then down to her bruised breasts. The soft, carnal touch of his kisses soothes the pain and eases her chest.

She is startled when he kisses her nipples, rolls them under his tongue and gently stretches them with his teeth. One by one, under this delicious caress, they harden and stretch proudly.

Satisfied, Marc picks up a new instrument. The first pinch on the side of her left breast makes Tara flinch. She instantly recognizes the wooden tongs she prepared that afternoon. Two sets of eight, joined together by a thin cord, which her husband is now fixing to the sides of her breasts, running down her ribs to the hollow of her groin. A flash of lightning pierces Tara's skull as the last two close over her taut nipples.

Marc watches his work with a satisfied smile. From the accelerated rhythm of his wife's breathing, he knows that beneath the pain the first sensations of pleasure are beginning to emerge.

Picking up the birch again, he slides it between Tara's spread legs. The tips of the branches graze her inner thighs, work their way up to her crotch, insinuating themselves between her drenched lips.

The young woman gives gentle strokes of her hips as the spurred branches caress her intimacy, rubbing and exciting her knob of flesh. Waves of pleasure rise slowly from her lower abdomen. Shivers of well-being run down her spine.

Then Marc strikes. The birch slams brutally into Tara's inner thighs, where the flesh is most fragile, then comes down on her vulva and clitoris, gorged with pleasure.

Tara grits her teeth, tensing her muscles. Her face is tormented by pain, rivers of tears flow from her eyes and bead down her breasts. The pain is unbearable, yet her belly burns with violent desire. She no longer knows where she stands. Pain and pleasure mix in her mind.

The prongs that strike her clitoris trigger electric shocks throughout her body. The clamps imprisoning her nipples make her suffer like a martyr. She begins to pant, her breathing jerky. An irresistible wave of pleasure surges through her.

Marc smiles. This is the moment.

His left hand grasps the two cords.

With a jerk, he rips off the two lines of clothespins. At the same time, the birch comes down on Tara's offered sex. A vicious blow. The tips of the branches separate her vulva in two and the lugs crash violently down onto her tautly stretched clitoris.

A wave of intense pleasure shakes Tara's whole body. Blood rushes to her breasts and clitoris. The pain is excruciating, yet it's a rattle of pleasure that bursts from her lips and echoes through the living room.

Overcome for a moment by her orgasm, she bends her knees and almost falls over. But she recovers at the last moment and pulls herself up to her initial position. Trembling, her heart pounding in her chest, she slowly comes to her senses, her head tilted back, an ecstatic smile on her lips.

For Marc, this is the signal he's been waiting for. Throwing off his clothes, he takes Tara by the arm and lays her on the table. Her back against the tabletop, her legs dangling in the air. Spreading her thighs, he presents his erect sex at the entrance to her vagina. Her open vulva reveals her large, birch-red labia and her still throbbing clitoris.

For a moment, he passes his penis head between her delicate lips, lubricating it with his partner's secretions. Then he thrusts into her with one powerful move. Tara squeals as the throbbing member spreads the walls of her vagina.

As he makes slow piston movements, Marc feels the vibrating, trembling muscles of the fleshy sheath tighten around his swollen shaft. Tara rolls her hips, meeting the steel member as it penetrates her deeper and deeper.

Slow at first, the pace gradually quickens. Marc's thrusts become more powerful, more violent. Tara writhes in pleasure, crushed by the weight of this male's body as he ravages her with science. Raucous moans escape her throat as she feels desire rising irresistibly inside her. An uncontrollable tidal wave rises from her lower abdomen.

Tara throws her whole body out to meet the huge rod tearing at her intimacy, impaling herself on the relentless shaft. Marc notices the change in his wife's attitude and picks up the pace even more. His lips kiss the swollen breasts, tugging at the already tormented nipples and drawing fresh cries from his victim.

Despite this new pain, Tara continues to propel herself to meet the bumper blows that make her whole body shake. She can't stop offering herself to the delicious pain that makes her whole being quiver and tremble.

The young woman's brain is boiling, she can't take it anymore. She can feel her vagina throbbing around the cock, which is relentlessly thrusting into her. Her clitoris is so swollen with pleasure it's painful, ready to explode. The tips of her breasts, tortured by Marc's teeth, make her suffer.

And yet, despite all this, Tara feels nothing but joy. The pain is there, but it's pleasure that dominates. Then, suddenly, there's an explosion.

A loud moan escapes her throat as the orgasm shakes her body. Her vagina contracts spasmodically around the enormous shaft, which continues its relentless to-and-fro.

The pressure of the fleshy sheath on his member elicits grunts and groans of pleasure from Marc. More excited than ever, he continues his piston movements, plunging ever deeper into his wife's intimacy.

With each penetration, his pelvis crushes Tara's clitoris. Electric shocks run through the young woman's body as she feels a second wave of pleasure sweep over her, taking her into a delirious maelstrom.

Marc suddenly freezes and grunts loudly as his cock twitches and a hot stream gushes from his knob. Tara doesn't know where she is anymore. Unintelligible sounds escape her lips as she screams out her pleasure and pain.

Moaning and grunting with pleasure, Marc gives a few more piston strokes until he's discharging all his semen into his wife's intimacy.

When he finally withdraws, Tara feels the hot, sticky liquid emerge from her vagina and spread over her thighs. Raising her head, she catches sight of her husband. Leaning over her, his dark gaze planted in her big green eyes, he smiles at her.

"The evening's not over yet," he tells her candidly. "I've planned one last test for you."

Tara simply nods and stands up. Grabbing her by the hips, Marc turns her around, then gently pushes her towards the table. Docilely, she leans forward, crushing her swollen chest on the tabletop and stretching out her arms to grip the opposite edge. Knowing what's coming next, she spreads her legs until she feels a stream of cool air slip between her thighs and up her buttocks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees what instrument Marc has grabbed and shudders in anticipation, a shiver of anguish and excitation running up her spine.

"I only thought I'd administer a dozen blows," begins her husband. "However, you deliberately disobeyed me in your choice of outfit and then tried to evade punishment. Two reasons why you will receive thirty strokes."

The sentence freezes her, and she prepares herself in advance for the wrenching pain that is about to descend upon her. Gathering her courage, she concentrates on her breathing, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as possible.

Her hearing picks up the hiss in the air, then the sharp slap of supple leather against her rump echoes through the living room, and she lets out a cry of pain. Despite all her resolve, the pain is too much to bear and she immediately bursts into tears.

The belt comes down relentlessly on her buttocks and upper thighs, leaving stinging marks on her tender flesh. Marc alternates between left and right strokes. Sometimes they come in rapid succession, like a flurry, other times he waits several seconds before striking, giving the pain time to settle in.

For Tara, it's a real ordeal. She doesn't know what's coming, there's nothing regular about the rhythm, and she can't anticipate from one blow to the next. This makes her totally helpless and vulnerable. All she can do is endure.

Her face grimacing with pain, she screams at the top of her lungs, but never tries to escape the leather that tans her. Firmly gripping the edge of the table, her knuckles turn white.

After the fifteenth stroke, Marc takes a break. Lying against the table, Tara is panting and sobbing. Her buttocks have turned bright red and are burning like a bonfire. Despite this, she resists the urge to rub them to ease the pain.

"Almost at the end," announces her husband, cocking his arm.

The belt whistles mournfully in the living room. The leather tongue unfurls and strikes, changing target and crashing violently into the rosy folds of Tara's crotch.

Caught off guard, the young woman suddenly raises her head. A mingled moan of pain and pleasure erupts from her throat as the instrument slams into her exposed sex.

The first cautious strokes gradually gain in power. Masterfully handled, the belt comes down at an incredibly brisk pace. Striking first at her anus, it then moves down her sensitive labia, which reddens and swells visibly, avoiding for the moment her clitoris, still sheltered beneath its fold of flesh.

Tara's cries are, now, one long wail. Rivers of tears are running down her cheeks, but Marc continues, unperturbed.

Suddenly, the belt crashes into the exact center of her vulva. In a flash, the supple leather tip whips across her sensitive bud. Excruciating pain rips through Tara and a high-pitched howl escapes her lips. A gigantic fire spreads throughout her lower body.

Two more blows, just as finely tuned, suddenly follow. Tara's eyes roll back in her sockets. She cries out in pain and pleasure as her body, bathed in perspiration, is shaken by orgasmic spasms.

The thirtieth and final blow is a bolt of lightning that pierces her skull. The leather strikes her asshole dead center, causing Tara to wail in agony.

Throwing the instrument to the ground, Marc rushes between her thighs. Grabbing the muscular globes of her buttocks with both hands, he spreads them apart and buries his head in her crotch. His mouth covers the tortured flesh with kisses. His tongue plays with the clitoris, taut with excitement. Then he works his way up the dark parting to her upturned anus.

The pain, still raw, makes Tara twitch as she feels this intruder at the door of her most intimate entrance. With science, Marc excites the ring of flesh with the tip of his tongue, darting it around the dark eyecup. Gradually, the pain subsides and the ring relaxes, gradually opening under the caress.

Marc straightens up. Spreading her buttocks with one hand, he grabs his member with the other. Presenting it to the quivering entrance, he puts his weight behind it.

At the touch of the knob against her sensitive skin, Tara instinctively stiffens and the ring of flesh suddenly contracts. But it's too late. With an inexorable thrust, Marc sinks into her.

A mixture of pain and surprise, a moan escapes from Tara's mouth as the resistance of her sphincters gives way under the pressure. Irresistibly, the shaft of flesh makes its way through the tight, narrow tunnel.

Marc feels her muscles throb and contract around his blood-gorged penis. Finally, his pubis comes crashing down against the muscular buttocks. He feels the heat produced by the burn of the correction she's received.

Once he's settled inside her, with his member up to the guard in her anus, Marc begins with a few slow, powerful pelvic movements. He wants to feel her sheath of flesh open with each penetration.

Pain and pleasure mix in Tara's mind as the huge cock ravages her asshole. Grabbing her by the hips, Marc suddenly accelerates his piston movements. The young woman feints as her husband savagely plows her. Her swollen breasts rub against the tabletop, sending new waves of pleasure through her body.

Gradually, the sensation of this monster of flesh opening up her insides creates a familiar warmth in her lower abdomen. Instinctively, she undulates her ass to open herself a little more to this intruder.

Seeing his sex sucked greedily into those muscular buttocks drives Marc mad with desire. He can barely control himself. His belly slams loudly against the bouncing buttocks as he accelerates his thrusts.

For long minutes, he pounds the narrow channel, forcing it to widen ever more under his onslaught. For Tara, the pain has completely disappeared, replaced by ever-stronger waves of pleasure. Twisting on the table, she thrusts out to meet the monster cock ravaging her.

Suddenly, she is ecstatic. One last thrust and Marc plunges deep inside her. Her asshole contracts one last time around the swollen penis, and Marc lets out a moan of bliss.

Tara is struck by orgasm the instant long streams of burning sperm flood her bowels, wringing a deafening cry of joy from her.

Exhausted, it takes several minutes for the two lovers to regain their senses. Finally, Marc withdraws and takes his wife in his arms, bringing her against him. Tara lets herself go, enjoying the voluptuous contact against her husband's warm, muscular body.

Their lips search and find each other in a languorous kiss. Their tongues play with each other for a few moments, then Tara gently detaches herself from the embrace and drops to her knees.

Her face level with the now softened penis, she crosses her hands behind her back and gently takes it into her mouth. With application, her tongue dutifully cleans the cock that has just ravaged her, demonstrating her total submission.

At this precise moment, Marc knows that he is once again the absolute dominant and that Tara is completely submissive to him, body and soul.