I felt heady, dizzy, reeling at both the scene before me and the pulse between my thighs. My hands felt clammy. I felt clammy.
Finally he stepped forward enough to soothe her with his fingers. She wheezed at his touch, murmuring words I couldn’t decipher. He asked her a question and she nodded.
“Please, Master. Please.”
He buried his fingers inside and this time he ploughed her rough. She loved it, moaning for more as he stretched her open, and moaning harder still as his other hand strummed her clit at the same time. He stopped as she began to peak, and she wailed out a groan of disappointment.
“Tears first, Violet,” he barked. “Cry for me.”
My stomach turned over itself, and there underneath the nerves was a primal need I’d buried for years. I checked either side to find both Raven and Cara engrossed by the show, and then, slowly and ever so quietly, I slid my hand between my thighs.
***
James
The beast raged, twisting through my muscles. It bayed for tears, and beautiful, beautiful pain. It bayed for Violet’s broken flesh. She strained her head as I swished the cane, eyes wide with anticipation, and fear. A gorgeous combination.
“Master... I...”
“Tears, Violet. You’ll cry for me.” I hardly recognised my own voice.
She took long, deep breaths and I took a moment to feel the room. It thrummed all around us, alive with sex. Violet tensed her shoulders. “I’m ready, Master.”
“Tell me what you need.”
“Pain, Master, please. I need pain.”
“Beg.”
I paced to her front, slow and deliberate. She couldn’t take her eyes from the cane, flinching every time I let it flick in my grip. I’d planned a long warm-up, priming her with both paddle and crop until she was floating on endorphins and ripe for the strokes, but no. The beast had his own plan.
Her tears would taste so much fucking better for it.
Her tits were colouring nicely, swollen with blood, long rubbery nipples jutting out at me. They made the perfect target for the tip of my cane. I flicked at her, mottling her skin plum with the early promise of bruising. They’d come up so fucking pretty. Shame I’d never see it.
“Please hurt me, Master.”
“More.”
“Please, Master, please. Hurt me, please. I need pain.”
I fought the urge to bury my cock in her dirty little asshole. I could punch-fuck her cunt at the same time, make her gush her filthy fucking juices all over the floor. Later.
I completed my circuit, taking up position to her rear. I let the cane rest high on her buttocks. Tap, tap, tap.
“Beg.”
“PLEASE, MASTER, PLEASE!” she yelled. “HURT ME!”
I landed the first blow before she’d even finished. It landed hard, and she jumped a clear mile, straining at the chains. I let her settle back into position. Her legs were already shaking.
“More,” I hissed.
“Please hurt me,” she wheezed.
“Good girl.”
I landed the next two in quick succession and she cried out, dancing on one leg like a wounded ballerina. Instinct took over as I read her movements, leaving her just enough time to regain her balance. Again, and again, and again. I savoured her stripes: savage white flashes of punishment on tender skin. Neat lines from a steady hand, a practised hand. Her ass looked so fucking pretty.
Her breathing grew frenetic, pain flooding her body with adrenaline. She started swearing, hissing out filthy obscenities. It only made me punish her harder. I increased the pace of my strokes and she started to flail, losing her fight for composure. She twisted and turned, howling like an animal until her throat was raw. I gave her a moment, moving close enough to finger the ridged stripes on her backside.
“Cry for me,” I whispered. “Let it all go.”
I hit her again and she wailed like a butchered pig, flapping her useless arms around in her cuffs. The next stroke buckled her knees, and she swung in her chains, wailing without breath, just one long, desperate wheeze. It sounded so fucking good. She got to her feet, knees knocking, and her shoulders began to bow, hunched. I ran the tip of the cane down her spine and she straightened.
“Ready for more?” I growled.
“Yes please, Master.”
“Good girl.”
She screamed through the next few. It’s that beautiful final stage, the one before they break. I love that part. Feral cries of torment, skin on fire. I eased up slightly as her chest began to heave. Tears. Beautiful fucking tears. I made sure to land two hard strokes in the same spot on her ass, and it sent her right over the edge. Sobs. Loud, desperate, gorgeous fucking sobs. I pressed myself against her back, wrapping my hands around to squeeze her poor, sore titties. She liked that, I could tell. They always like that. Sore titties make wet pussies.