“Please, Master,” she said in a trembling voice as he took up a position behind her. Did she mean Please, Master, don’t hurt me? Or Please, Master, just get it over with? Or did she really love the cane?
“Did you mean what you said earlier, slave girl? About liking pain?” He asked not only for safety’s sake, but because she fascinated him and he wanted to know.
She didn’t even hesitate. “If you wish to punish me, Master, then I wish to be hurt.”
He traced the tip of the cane up one quivering thigh and down the other. “Stop with the role-playing for a second. Answer me honestly. How hard can I go?”
She turned her head back toward him, thinking a moment. “Hard enough to make it feel real.”
His already-engorged cock swelled even hotter with pleasure. “Eyes down then. Be still. I’m going to make it feel real for you.”
“Thank you, Master,” he heard her whisper as he drew back his arm to land the first stroke. He loved these kinds of games, loved to see her body jolt and the pink cane stripe bloom and deepen on her skin. He hadn’t started with an awful stroke, no, but it wasn’t a warm-up either. She yelped and squeezed her legs together, her little ass cheeks clenching and unclenching. It made a lovely target for the second stroke. Jason was an experienced D-type—he knew canes hurt like hell—but he’d also come to understand that some women needed pain to arouse them, to open them up.
He watched his reckless slave girl, looking for signs that the pain was right. On the third stroke she made a pleading sound and drew her spread fingers into fists. On the fourth stroke she cried out, but then she arched her back higher, as if to offer herself for more. Oh, beautiful. So beautiful. He gave her one more stroke in that graceful position and then paused.
“Spread your legs.”
She looked back at him, blinking. He wouldn’t repeat himself, because he knew she’d heard him the first time. “Are we a naughty slave girl or a good slave girl?” he asked. “Show me.”
Slowly, she lowered her head and inched her legs apart.
“Wider. I want your knees two feet apart and I want your ass in the air. I want to see everything, clit, pussy lips, asshole.”
He was mindfucking her a little. Trying to scare her. Trying to make it feel real. She complied with a lovely mien of dread, offering her body to him in the requested explicit pose. He took a moment to sit on the bed and admire the picture. Her bare pussy glistened, her engorged clit peeking from between the folds. Her little asshole spasmed with fear or nervousness. Caning a woman wasn’t strenuous but she was putting a huge strain on his cock. He stood and moved behind her. Again, her fingers curled into fists above her head, but she didn’t cringe, didn’t cower. Maybe she whimpered, just a little bit.
Music to his ears.
He enjoyed playing like this, pushing her boundaries, keeping her in the dark about how many strokes she’d get, or how hard they’d become. Right now, she was scared of getting caned on her sensitive center. The prospect was tempting. He slid the tip of the cane along her labia to tease over the bud of her clit. She made a sound somewhere between terror and bliss, lifting her hips for more at the same time she shuddered with misery.
It was so hard not to drop to his knees and thrust into her and fuck her across the floor, but it wasn’t time for that yet, not for either of them. Again, he slid the cane over her gleaming slit until she dipped and danced to feel the pleasure of its touch.
“Keep your legs open,” he said. “Arch that back and offer yourself to me like a good slave.”
She complied with another nut-clenching whimper. Blood swarmed in his pelvis, arousal building to a fever pitch. He drew back his arm and saw her tensing. Waiting.
Yes, this one enjoyed pain.
* * * * *
Sara drew in a deep breath and held it, bracing for God knew what. That was the scary thing about giving a complete stranger control over your body. She’d never done anything like this before, but then, she’d never met a man like Jason before, who was kind and protective and stern, and breathtakingly handsome all at once.
“Oh, Master,” she cried out as the cane landed in a line of stinging fire.
It hurt so badly, but it felt perfect. For her, perfect meant terribly painful, but not so painful that she couldn’t bear it. She could even feel a whisper of the cane against her clit, a bit of sting but no injury. What a controlled touch. She’d assumed he was experienced at exchanging power, just from the way he talked and the effortless way he took control of her. Even his physique spoke of authority and power. This guy worked out and took care of his body. He was perfectly made, from the top of his broad shoulders to his cut abs to his sculpted thighs and calves. His skin was golden and flawless, his complexion marred only by a bronze scruff of stubble she’d explored with light fingers.
Her boss had taken one look at the well-dressed, towering Amerik and told her to get him plastered, so they could lure him into one of the private rooms. In the three weeks she’d worked at the club, she’d seen it done seven times…hapless, passed-out tourists charged an exorbitant amount of money for sexual favors they didn’t even receive. But she could tell right away that Jason Beck was a kind man, that he was noble. She hadn’t been able to do what her boss asked.
And now here she was. Unemployed and sprawled on his hotel room floor with her ass in the air.
“Owww.” The next cane stroke caught her by surprise. Her body surged with adrenaline and her pussy grew even wetter. She ached for him to take her. Big muscles, big body, big cock. She wanted him to push it inside her while her ass cheeks still smarted from his punishment. He was the first dominant man to arouse her to such a fever pitch. And how? A few curt orders, a bit of pain.
More than a bit. He gave her another fiery stroke, then tapped her on the small of her back. “Don’t tense up. Spread for me. Open yourself to it.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered. She wanted to be open for him. She wanted him. She looked back over her shoulder, a look meant to entice, even though she knew it might anger him.
He made a low sound in his throat. “You’re a greedy little slave, aren’t you? You want my cock? You want to be fucked?” She shuddered as he stroked her clit again with the tip of the implement.
“Oh, please, Master,” she begged. She wanted to grab the cane and masturbate against it, slide along its length as her bottom throbbed. He was so good at this...
“Aren’t you being punished for lack of self-control? If you want my cock, you need to learn your lesson first, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master.”
But she couldn’t control herself, not when he tapped just so at her clit, just enough to hurt her and tease her and make her ache in the exact, perfect way. She arched against the cane with a sob. She heard his tsk just before she felt the white-hot pain of the next stroke.
“Master, I’m sorry. Please!”
“Please? There’s only one person here who needs to please, and that’s you. Be a good slave. Be still and let me touch you as I want to. Control yourself.”
Sara squeezed her eyes shut, feeling close to tears as the cane’s tip molested her most sensitive parts. She truly felt he was her Master and she wanted to please him, even though all of this was a game. She gritted her teeth and steeled herself not to arch and press against the blessed relief of the implement’s caress.
“That’s right. Still and docile. Fulfilling my pleasure, not yours.” His low voice thrilled her, gave her the fortitude to hold motionless as he teased her, on and on and on. It was maybe a minute, but it felt like an hour that he toyed with her clit. She heard him laugh, felt the cane disappear and then felt a light tap across the soles of her feet. “Uncurl your toes, good girl. That’s over. The teasing anyway.”
But not the—oww! He gave her a solid, burning stroke, so she howled and twisted out of her required pose.
“No,” he said. “Try again. I thought we were getting somewhere. Kneel straight and open yourself for Master. For Master’s
will and Master’s punishment.”
Something about his voice hypnotized her, or bespelled her. Something about him touched her so deeply that she resumed her position, even knowing the pain to come. She’d never cried during any scene in her past, but her eyes felt hot and prickly. She felt a few tears squeeze through her tightly-shut lids.