“Pain is a strange thing, Sloane,” he says softly. “People have entirely the wrong idea about it. From birth, children are coddled and panicked over when they hurt themselves, so they grow up believing it’s a bad thing. As soon as their nerve endings start sending feedback to the brain, their fear receptors kick in. They freak the fuck out. What do they teach you in medical school about pain?”
“It’s a survival technique,” I whisper.
Zeth moves closer—I can sense him standing before me. All I need to do is reach up and touch him, but I know I shouldn’t. It’s not my role. “Right,” Zeth says. “But that doesn’t mean we should be afraid of it. We should embrace it. Relish it. Know the limits of our pain, and understand what we can tolerate.” Something hard presses against my cheek, and my hands, pressing into the carpet, automatically curl into fists. “I know what you can tolerate, Sloane. I’ve told you that before, and you’ve trusted me. Do you trust me now?”
“Yes. I trust you.”
My lips tingle as he kisses me, then. A soft, light, barely there kiss that causes heat to pool in the bottom of my stomach. “Thank you, Sloane,” he whispers. “I’m going to hurt you now, but I promise you’re going to like it.”
A promise from Zeth means something. If he promises I’m going to enjoy this, I have absolutely nothing to worry about, but that doesn’t stop the swell of nerves that rise through me. I can hear him moving around me, pacing, as though he’s observing me from all angles, trying to decide where to begin. He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
Something pointed traces the curve of my spine, starting at the base of my neck and traveling slowly down until it reaches the curve of my butt. I have no idea what it is. Not cold, so probably not metal. Not sharp, so not the knife.
“You grade pain in hospital, don’t you?” Zeth whispers, his voice thick with lust.
“Yes.”
“Tell me how it works.”
“We…we ask the patient to tell us how much pain they’re in on…a scale of one to ten.”
“And does that help you?” Zeth trails whatever he’s got in his hand across the tops of my shoulders, and I feel more of it against me. Something long and thin, solid and almost warm.
“Yes, it…helps us to grade how much pain relief they need. Tells us the severity of the problem.”
The pressure from Zeth’s toy vanishes. “We’ll use your system today, Sloane. When I ask you, you give me a number.”
“Okay.” For some reason, I feel a little reassured by this. I probably shouldn’t, but I do.
I’m relaxing into the situation a little when a bright sting of pain bites into the flesh of my buttocks. It’s the surprise that gets me, more than the pain. I yelp, almost hopping up from my position.
“Stay still, angry girl,” Zeth tells me. “Now. One to ten. What was that? Really think about it.”
I take a second to do just that. “Three,” I say. “It was a three.” I can’t feel the burn of it anymore, so I can’t legitimately grade it higher. Zeth will know I’m lying in order make him go easier on me, and I get the feeling that will have entirely the reverse effect.
“Good girl, Sloane. That was a three.” I barely dare breathe as he paces around me. I jump when the cane—it can only be a cane—makes contact with my chest. Zeth strokes the length of wood underneath me, across my breasts, making my nipples throb. “You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful,” he tells me. “Breathe, Sloane. You have to remember to breathe.”
I inhale, drawing a steady pull of oxygen into my lungs, and that’s when the second strike lands. Across my butt again; this time the force is harder. More intense. “Fuck!”
Zeth laughs quietly. I can imagine the look in his eyes—the amusement dancing there as he watches me squirm. “Such a foul mouth on you, angry girl. How would you grade that?”
“Six,” I say, panting, doing my best to keep still. I want to touch my fingers to the tender area where he caned me—it feels as though there’ll be a raised welt there, angry and red to look at if I could see it in a mirror.
“Now, now, that was only a five. Take a deep breath. Fill your lungs, relax your body, and then tell me again. How would you grade that?”
I do take a deep breath. I do relax my body. And he’s right. “All right. Five.”
Zeth kisses me, pressing his lips against my shoulder. He’s standing behind me, but not for long. He moves so he’s in front of me. I’m almost ready for it this time when he touches the end of the cane to my skin. Instead of using it to dole out pain, he traces the tip over my stomach and then down, until it rests between my legs. The hard inflexibility of the length of wood slides over my pussy, between the folds of flesh, probing me, searching out the sweet spot. It doesn’t take long to find it. Just like with the knife, there’s something thrilling about an object that can cause me great pain being used to bring pleasure instead. My whole body hums as Zeth slides the end of the cane repeatedly up and over my pussy, occasionally applying pressure, but mostly just teasing me with it so I can barely keep my arms and legs from shaking. I groan, trying not to let myself rock my hips against it.