Chapter Thirty-Two
Ryker
He’d been green with envy these months, listening to Cosima acquiesce to and obey Ian and Hudson.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He’d wanted that agreement, that submission for himself. But every time he’d heard those words, he’d known they weren’t for him. And that was fine. He was nobody’s daddy, nobody’s papa. He was, for the most part, a dominant, a sadist. Nurturing was…not his thing and he wasn’t ashamed of that. He was a responsible and conscientious partner and that had to be enough for some people.
He had, however, felt a not insignificant amount of guilt about not being able to be what Cosima needed. She and Ian and Hudson were so perfect together it hurt in a way he couldn’t shrug off because it was so deep, a lack that lurked in the marrow of his bones.
He and Ian and Hudson had pledged to spend their lives together, and it had worked so far. They had each met their needs with various people and it had seemed to him that the possibility of finding one woman who would be a good partner for each of them—allof them—was an impossible task.
When he’d played with women at the club and they’d said, “Yes, sir,” to him, it had almost rung hollow. Not that they weren’t sincere—they were. But something had fallen flat. Hearing those two words drop from Cosima’s sweet lips, though, was like having every last one of his buried-deep nerves set on fire.
He steadied Cosima with a hand at her elbow but mostly used the grip he had on her hair to bring her to her feet, and she mewled prettily at the tension on her scalp. His dick was going to be rebar-hard all night, wasn’t it?
He dragged her over to the wall where there was a grid of metal—with all the possible attachment points, it was useful for binding submissives to. Not wanting to waste any more time, he released his grip on her hair and made quick work of attaching her cuffs to the grid. Oftentimes he’d have women stretched up on their toes, just barely able to touch the floor which made their balance precarious at best. He had other plans for Cosima though so he used carabiners to link the D rings of her cuffs to spots roughly parallel to her ears. Pretty little helpless thing, completely at his mercy.
Of course even in the low light he could see the scars that crisscrossed her back, her arms, her buttocks. Hell, everywhere. He tried to swallow the discomfort they stirred in him. Those had been made by a thoughtless, abusive man and hadn’t been her choice. The only marks he’d leave her with would be asked for, begged for. She wanted to be hurt, enjoyed pain, like so many other people. Him hurting her was what they both wanted.
He grabbed her ass and squeezed hard, digging fingertips into yielding flesh and his cock ached when Cosima groaned in response, her head dropping back as she did. A groan that turned to a surprised squeak when he relinquished his grip in order to deliver a very firm smack to the cheek he’d just been kneading.
And then another spank to the other cheek, followed by more in quick succession. He wasn’t taking it easy on her but he wasn’t going full force yet either. Time enough for that.
Some tops enjoyed hand-spanking the most, the feel of their palm connecting with the willing flesh of their bottom’s backside. It wasn’t that Ryker didn’t enjoy that, but he preferred to use his tools. And not the re-purposed items some people favored like hairbrushes, spoons, ping pong paddles. Pervertables were well and good and would get the job done but there was nothing he liked better than a hand-hewn paddle, a gorgeously shaped tawse, a thick birch rod. Implements made for one sole purpose.
Cosima’s skin was pink and warm under his palm, and it fully registered that she wasn’t crying or carrying on the way she did when Hudson or Ian disciplined her. No, if anything, she was pushing her buttocks out, offering them to him. What a peculiar but perfect creature. The knowledge made his craving for her deeper still—he didn’t suffer brats and the lovely woman in front of him was basically the opposite of a brat.
When he felt she was warmed up enough, he stopped smacking her backside and ran his hand over her rosy flesh, scraped his nails across the sensitized skin to make her shudder. It was so lovely the way she squirmed like a serpent at the sensation but not away from him.
“Very nice,” he granted gruffly.
Her sigh, tinged with a grateful, relieved note at the end, almost a sob, clawed into his heart. Why had he waited for so long to do this? Except falling more deeply in love with Cosima was precisely why he hadn’t wanted to. Surely he could gain a foothold, grab onto something on the seemingly slick face so he wouldn’t fall headlong into this abyss? That was funny.
Ryker looked at the table where he’d laid out some of his favorite implements. What should he use on her next? The martinet perhaps; its delicacy belied its toughness, much like Cosima herself. No, too whippy for now—he would save that sensation for later when he had driven her deep into subspace. He could picture the sharp bites eliciting gritted-teeth pleas and squeaks and he got even harder thinking about it. Yes, he wanted to save that.
He picked up a thick, wide leather strap that would fun to swing and crack at her buttocks and drew it up the back of one leg and then the other before drawing it over the yoke of her narrow shoulders. She could think about that while he got his other instruments of torment.
The unassuming clamps he took from the table didn’t look all that scary—that was part of the genius of them. Small silver rings with screws that controlled the distance between two tiny plates which were capped with nasty little teeth.
Ryker reached around to Cosima’s chest, roughly squeezed her tits, dug his fingertips into the pliable flesh, kneaded the outsides before clamping her nipples between knuckles to pinch, tug and squeeze them, plumping up the little buds through the diaphanous top. Once he was satisfied with how erect the puffy, vulnerable nubs were, he yanked aside the delicate fabric to expose her tits. Then he drew a a clamp out of his pocket and made quick work of fastening it onto the furled tight peaks, enjoying Cosima’s gasp when when he tightened the clamps. Not only were they effective toys by themselves but when he strapped her, the added weight would emphasize the bounce of her chest, make her tits feel heavy and swollen. Cosima didn’t say a word, didn’t make a peep aside from the initial gasp even though he could tell she was schooling her breath.
And the last thing he would add?
A clamp that wasn’t as vicious in itself as the tiny spikes that were biting into her nipples but a tweezer clamp tipped with rubber that would look so sweet dangling from between her legs after he attached it to her precious little clit.
“Step out,” he ordered her while sliding the scrap of pink down her legs, and she did, gracefully. When he balled the ridiculous panties in his hand, he could feel the lingering wetness and heat. Perfect. Shoved them in his pocket so he could finger the lace whenever he damn well felt like it—but why would he when he had her in the flesh and blood right here?
“Spread your legs.”
Obedient little thing didn’t hesitate but widened her stance, and Ryker didn’t hesitate to roughly shove two fingers into her visibly slick cunt. So wet, so tight, so hot, and the way she arched into him, not shrinking from his rough touch but asking for more was…exquisite. Made everything seem sharper, brighter, in vision more perfect than 20/20. He couldn’t wait to sink his cock into her.
This was only a tease so he rammed into her a dozen times before withdrawing and Cosima whined her protest, which he responded to with a volley of sharp slaps across her pinked up backside.
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