Rebecca pulled my attention back to her, tapping my forehead with a long, red fingernail. “Whatever’s in here, Lyds, all your reservations, all your pride, all your self-control. You’ve got to give it all up. Let yourself break for him, and he’ll love you for it.” She took my hand and led me to where Cara was waiting. “Believe me, baby, cry for him and he’s yours.”
I took a breath as we made our way inside. Cry for him, sure, no big deal. Like I hadn’t been trying for weeks.
Masque was already at the bar; the sculpted muscle of his shoulders glowing blue under the neons. I took a seat next to him, smiling as he ordered me a wine. Cry for him and he’s yours. If only that one tiny statement didn’t mean so much.
I made no time for small talk, leaning straight into the musky warmth of his neck. “Cane me, tonight. Please, Masque.”
He turned to me, the line of his mouth deadly serious. “What’s with the urgency, Kitty Cat?”
I sighed. “I want to cry.”
His mouth curled into a smile. “The tears I want from you are an emotional release, Cat. The cane will hurt like a motherfucker, I promise you, but there’s more to it than that.”
“Yeah, I know. I have to let go. I’m trying,” I sulked.
He brooded awhile, shadowy eyes staring me out. “If you’re serious about this, you’ll need a safeword.”
“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the object?”
“Not at all.”
I sipped my wine. “I’m not going to use the safeword, Masque.”
“Then there will be tears,” he said simply.
“Promise me you won’t stop,” I said. “Not before it’s done.”
He pulled me in close until his breath tickled my mouth. “You don’t need to worry about that, my pretty little Cat’s eyes. Your safeword is Paris.”
***
Paris, Paris, Paris. I swore to myself I wouldn’t need it, but standing there, naked, under the dark gaze of the chimera in playroom one, I wasn’t quite so confident. I turned my back to the faces at the window, blanking out everything but the man before me. He gestured to the flogging bench, and I took up position on all fours, my breasts mashing tight against the bench’s contoured padding. Masque buckled my ankles into the cuffs, leaving me spread wide open for him.
“You’ve healed well,” he said, stroking my ass. “A nice fresh canvas for stripes.” He fastened my wrists, pulling my chin up towards him. “Last call, Cat. Do you want this?” He brandished the cane before my face, letting rip with a healthy swish. I flinched but didn’t falter.
“Yes, sir. Please.”
I couldn’t read his expression, just took comfort in the soft caress of his thumb against my lips. He disappeared from my eyeline, taking the cane with him. “Only use the safeword if you really have to,” he said. I nodded, straining to keep him in sight as he walked around me. “Look straight ahead, relax.”
I did as he asked, twitching in my bonds involuntarily. They held firm. I jumped as warm breath teased my pussy lips, and groaned like a whore as he buried his face. He bit me as he pulled away, hard enough to make me whine.
“Such a sweet juicy cunt,” he growled. “I love how wet you are for pain.”
I heard the familiar swish of the flogger, but kept my eyes straight ahead. The tails pinched at my back, a frenzied assault of tiny bites which ramped up with every circuit. He aimed hard for my thighs, curling around my hips to snap at tender skin. I rolled into it, sinking into the sensation, breathing evening out as the endorphins began to rise.
“Good girl, Cat,” he said. “Nice and pink.”
I gasped as he worked me with the tip of the cane, poking hard against my pussy. “Yes!” I groaned. “Fuck me!”
He pressed harder, skewering me in one slick motion. “Dirty bitch,” he growled. “So fucking dirty.”
“Please, Masque, sir, make it hurt,” I wheezed, floating into the warm arms of subspace. My throat was dry, fists clenched tight, every sliver of my attention on the sharp point of the cane inside me. I pictured him flipping me over, just like on his desk, forcing my thighs wide open to receive his pain.
“I’m going to hurt you so much, Cat, so fucking much...” No sooner had the intrusion disappeared than I heard the swish in the air. The first strike took my breath, all of it. It hurt more than my very worst expectation, skin searing on contact and wrenching me forward in my restraints.
“Shit!” I wheezed. “Ow, ow, shit!”
On the second stroke my body moved without bidding, rocking back on my knees as far as movement would allow. I spluttered out expletives, one long breath of crass relief.