“You disrespected me!”
He brings back his hand and the implement he’s holding flies. I hear the sound of the falls before I feel them, a whistling sound that warns me this is going to hurt. I gasp when the leather falls of the flogger lick my skin. He’s used this on me before, but it was for foreplay, not punishment.
“I expect you to obey me,” he says tightly, before lashing me again, this time the falls landing across my breasts and shoulders. It stings and burns, and I can’t stop him. Walking around to my back, he flogs me with the leather, my ass lighting up underneath the stings of the falls. “Did it ever occur to you that it was imperative you come right away? Hmm?”
Several more lashes of the flogger fall, and I’m whimpering now, my body pulsing with need but still desperate to stop the pain. It isn’t the worst spanking I’ve gotten by far, but it hurts like hell.
“You could’ve just said that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“No,” he snaps, whipping the flogger across my ass harder than he has yet. “I shouldn’t need to give you an explanation. When I give you a command, you obey me, no questions asked.”
I’m so angry and this hurts so badly I throw my head back, an animalistic growl escaping my lips. “Yes, master,” I toss out sarcastically. “Whatever you say, sir.” My voice drips with sarcasm. I hate this. I like it so much better when I’ve earned his approval rather than his anger.
I hate this.
In silence, he continues the lashing, with steady flicks of the falls to my skin, until my whole body is on fire, laced with cuts of the flogger. The flogger is far from a harsh implement, but the pain builds in intensity with every cut of leather.
“Need to mouth off to me again?” he asks. I watch through the hood as he places the flogger down and lifts something else into his hand. I inwardly cringe, even as somehow, against all reason and rational logic, I want him to continue this. To bring me to the point of submission I don’t readily grant, the relinquishment that has to be wrestled from my grasp bit by agonizing bit.
Because I like when he’s in charge. It fills me with pleasure to earn his approval.
And why haven’t I lately?
“Say you’re sorry, Caroline,” His stern voice is laced with warning. I bite my tongue and say nothing.
Thwack. I yell out loud when something solid and painful whacks against my ass. I try to look to see what he’s using, but I can’t see anything but black in his hand.
“Say it.” Still, I refuse.
He spanks me again, harder this time. I whimper and try to move but I’m in this position, and there’s literally no escape. The cuffs hold my wrists in place, and every movement of my body’s inhibited by something. A plug in my ass and clamps on my nipples, and behind me, that awful thing he’s using to punish me. It’s got to be some type of wooden paddle or something. I’ve been through enough with him to recognize the feel of wood when it’s being used on me.
“Say you’re sorry,” he commands a third time, and when I don’t, he smacks me again. I choke on a dry sob. It hurts so badly, and yet somehow this is what I need. I brace for another stroke, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel him at my back, working the plug with one hand while he tugs the chain between the clamps with his other.
“Ahhhhh!” I’m half-screaming, half-moaning, not knowing what to do with myself. Then his fingers are between my legs and he’s working me hard and fast, until I’m rocking on his hand, dying for more. The spanking’s heightened my senses, the clamps and plug putting me at his total mercy. He’s stroking, circling, tugging, working me to the point of utter bliss, and when my body tenses just before I collapse into total ecstasy, he stops.
“Say it.”
I am dying to come, but I clamp my mouth shut and whimper to myself. I’m not ready. I breathe in deeply through the lace. Unable to see clearly, my senses are intensified by his unapologetic mastery over my body. I’m so close to coming, I’m trembling when he slides his fingers inside my core while he palms my ass, stroking the plug. I’m on the brink of coming, on the very cusp of pleasure when he stops.
He doesn’t need to command me this time.
“I’m sorry, sir. Tomas, I’m sorry. Please, sir.” I don’t recognize my tight, needy voice, begging him to grant me pleasure.
“That’s a good girl,” he says. But he doesn’t make me come. First, he takes the hood off. I breathe in deeply, the room suddenly bright. I squint in the sudden light, when his mouth captures mine. He kisses me, and my body ignites. His lips are the softest part of him, so tender and gentle I sigh into him. But as he kisses me, both of his hands find my breasts, each one palming and weighing the fullness, but there’s no more tugging the chain. Instead, he removes it. Blood rushes to the abused flesh, and my breasts swell, tingling with the relief it brings. The best part about the clamps are their removal, the way the flow of blood makes my breasts ache and my body teem with pleasure.