“Raise your hands,” he said in a gruff voice that already had my pussy flowing. He buckled my wrists into the cuffs, not looking in my eyes, although I watched his expression for any change in his features. If he was nervous, like me, he didn’t show it. Of course he’s not showing it. You’re new to this, but he’s done it a thousand times.
He stood back when my hands were bound in the air, and I did see a bit of worry in his features. Worry and lust. He circled me as my toes shifted on the smooth wood floor. “How does that feel?” he asked.
I thought a moment. “Scary, but good.”
“What now? Do you want me to beat you? Make you cry?”
I sucked in a breath. “I don’t know. Do what you like. What you usually do.”
“What if you hate what I usually do?” I felt his touch at my back and I flinched. “What if you hate it and you can’t get away?”
I shook my head, trembling at his closeness. “I don’t know.”
“If you hate it, you use a safe word.”
Oh yes, I remembered reading about safe words while I waited for him to come home. BDSM culture was very big on safe words.
I turned to look at him, wanting to curl myself against him, but he stood rigidly away from me, his cock erect. “What safe word should I use?” I asked.
“Lala,” he said, like he’d already thought about it. “As many times as it takes to make me stop. Lala lala lala lala lala, like you’re singing. I know you hate that name.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll never use it.”
“Brave words,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Finally, he came close enough to touch me, tracing fingers down my cheeks and across my chin. “This would be enough for me, you know. Seeing you like this, bound and scared.”
I bit my lip. “I’m not sure if it’s enough for me.”
“You’ve never done anything like this?” he asked, although I’d already confessed my ignorance.
“It’s all new,” I said in a soft voice. “But I’m ready.”
He leaned in and kissed me, his hands cupping my breasts. His cock poked against my belly and I felt another wave of arousal between my legs. All too soon, he broke the kiss. “Here are the ground rules when we play,” he said. “You don’t try to get away from the things I do to you. If it hurts, that’s too bad. Understand? Answer ‘Yes, Sir.’ In this dungeon, I’m always ‘Sir.’”
“Yes, Sir.” I was getting so turned on from his words, I was afraid the moisture in my pussy would start running down my leg.
“No asking me to stop. You can cry, scream, or tremble, but no whining or asking for a reprieve. You won’t get it.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”
“In this dungeon, you’re mine until you use a safe word.” His hand traced down my back and over my ass cheek, then he squeezed a handful of it. “Your ass is mine,” he said. He slapped one of my breasts, and I gasped. “Your tits are mine. Open your mouth.” I did, and he thrust a finger inside it. “Your mouth is mine. Your lips are mine, your tongue is mine. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said around his finger in garbled agreement. He removed his finger, but our gazes stayed locked.
“Are you ready? You’re sure you want this?” he asked, his eyes dangerously intent.
“Yes, Sir.” Please fuck me. Oh God, I’m about to die here. “Yes, please, Sir.”
He broke our stare-down and walked over to the cabinets along the wall, returning with a pair of silver clamps. He slapped my left breast, then my right. I flinched, unused to so much sensation. So much roughness. After he slapped them both a couple times, he yanked on my nipples. They were hard from fear more than anything, and he pinched them and twisted them, then clamped them, one after the other. The whole process took a few seconds, but the pain…
“Oh God,” I whispered. No begging, no whining, no entreating him to take them off. If it hurts, that’s too bad. He moved back to the cabinets, leaving the silver clips dangling from my nipples, causing cascades of pain to shoot through my breasts. I gritted my teeth as he opened a drawer, removing a thin, supple strap with a handle.
Okay, okay, you’re okay. I breathed through my teeth, preparing myself. It wasn’t that big of an implement. He wasn’t going to break anything, well, aside from my nipples, which throbbed from the clamps. He moved behind me.
“Spread your legs,” he instructed. “Spread them as wide as you can, so you can brace yourself. I don’t want any hopping or turning around.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice quavered. My legs trembled as I inched them apart.
“Wider,” he said impatiently.
I spread them as wide as I could with my arms stretched over me. The first lick of the strap caught me by surprise. It wasn’t unbearable, no, but it stung like hell, and I jumped and twisted sideways.
“Nope,” he said, turning me back again. “I was going to start you out with five, but you just earned five more. I’ll say it again. No turning or hopping. Keep your feet flat on the ground. You said you wanted this.”
Yes, I had. I could keep my feet still if I tried. I really wanted to try.
“Spread your legs the way you’re supposed to, Alice, and behave this time,” he said. “You have nine more, if you’re good.”
Nine sounded like plenty. I braced to be still, and when the next stinging blow came, I curled my toes, but didn’t move them.
“That’s better,” he said. The positive feedback was nice, but my nipples were killing me and I had eight more strap strokes to go. I reached my hands around to grasp the chains above me. Each stroke he dealt was successively harder, but the threat of more pain kept my feet rooted to the floor, even when my body’s natural impulse was to try to escape the stinging punishment. Six. Seven. Eight. I counted them in my head as he doled them out in a controlled, steady stream. Nine hit me right between the cheeks. Oww. Ten was the hardest of all, and I jumped.
“That’s five more,” he said.
Shit, shit, shit. I tensed my body—and my butt cheeks—so I wouldn’t jump my way up to twenty. Or twenty-five. Or thirty. Just thinking about it made me want to cry. My ass burned from the first ten strokes. How long had it been since he started on me? Two
minutes? Three? Could I take five more licks? Would this scene go on for half an hour? An hour? How much pain could I take?
I felt his hand on my neck, then in my hair, grasping it and giving me a little shake. “Your ass is mine, remember? Your body is mine. All you have to do is let it happen.”
Let it happen. Give your body to him, your stinging ass cheeks and your smarting nipples. He owns you right now. He was making that perfectly clear. There was no tenderness in this Milo, no protectiveness. This pain was what he’d been trying to protect me from—he clearly enjoyed doling it out.
“I’m trying to be still,” I said on a sob.
“Then be still.”
He let go of my hair, and another strap stroke lit my ass on fire. I wanted to turn and look over my shoulder. Just looking at him would have calmed me, but I wasn’t allowed to turn around. I realized now that this kind of bondage was much worse than a spanking bench or a rack, where I’d be tied so I couldn’t turn or move, even if I wanted to.
Then I realized why we were starting this way. Because taking the pain had to be my choice. I had to stand here and endure it on my own steam, without anything holding me down.
After that, I had no problems standing still, even if my ass cheeks still clenched with each merciless lick. I was proud of myself, but my only reward was to have the nipple clamps removed—which caused a great deal of pain in itself. He placed them on a nearby table, then reached over my head to release my cuffed wrists from the chains. I wondered for a moment if we were done, but he wasn’t acting like we were done.
“Stretch your arms for a moment, then put your hands behind you,” he said shortly.
I obeyed, getting the circulation flowing with a few arm and shoulder rolls, then reaching behind me where he waited. He took my wrists in firm fingers, and a couple clicks later, my arms were bound behind me in cuffs.
“Are you having fun?” he asked, his lips against my ear.
What else could I say? “Yes, Sir.”
He gave a soft laugh and nudged me forward onto my knees. I went down, my hurting, strapped ass cheeks feeling exposed and vulnerable. I tried to soothe them with my palms as I knelt, but Milo grabbed the cuffs and gave me a rough rattle of control.