Dirty Bad Wrong(65)

He landed the third across my thighs and I howled like a banshee, gripping for the edge of the bench and clenching my legs as tight as they’d go. Number four landed harder, and I slammed my forehead hard into the padding, no breath left to exhale.

I found more breath through five and six, squealing without reservation. My head flew back, eyes desperate to keep the cane in sight, animal fear thundering through my ribcage. This wasn’t like I imagined. He came to my side, smoothing down my hair with his fingers.

“Cry for me, Cat, cry and it will stop.”

My eyes were wide and frantic. “I can’t!”

He retreated for another stroke, and this time the tip of the cane curled around my ass, savage on untouched flesh.

“OWW!” I screamed. “FUCKING HELL!”

“CRY FOR ME!” he thundered. “LET IT GO!”

I spluttered through the next few, until they became a blur of agony. My thighs were trembling, mouth bone dry, every nerve screaming for release. There was only pain. Pain and Masque, his low groan loud in the air.

“FUCKING HELL, CAT, LET IT GO!”

He landed a stripe on the tender line where my ass met my thighs, and I wailed like a wounded animal. I felt sick, teeth chattering, the adrenalin spike rushing through my limbs. My throes became less frenetic, morphing instead into a slow rhythmic sway, back and forth as far as the bench would allow. My ears began to ring.

His growl snared my senses. “Cry for me, Cat, show me your fucking tears.”

He changed position and the cruel tip of the cane bit the inside of my thigh. I heard myself wheezing, but it felt so far away.

My heart was hammering, nerves on fire, muscles twitching for escape, but there was no escape. Only him, only Masque. I heard myself whimpering, acceptance of my bonds stealing my fight.

He pressed the cane against my ass, poking at the ridged flesh.

“More, Cat, I’m going to give you so much more.”

I shook my head, resolve breaking. “No.”

“No? You want to use the safeword?”

My mind cracked open, adrenaline rising to new heights. “No.”

“Which is it to be?” he pushed.

My breath hitched, pooling in my throat, toes curling. I couldn’t use the safeword, I just couldn’t. “More.”

“More what?”

“More pain, please, sir,” I wheezed.

“Good girl.” He didn’t let up, landing three in quick succession. I spluttered incomprehensible words, choking as they forced their way out, and there underneath were tears. I could feel them welling up, feel the lump tight in my throat. I crested my tolerance, every nerve crying for release. He hit me again and I coughed out a sob, chest heaving. I heard the lust in his voice, the soft groan of need. “That’s it, Cat, that’s it...”

I closed my eyes, ready to give it all up, ready to cry for him, but no sooner had the tears risen than they eased away again, retreating behind the wall of self-restraint. Masque must have witnessed the change; the way my body turned tense and rigid.

“No, Cat, no, no, no. Don’t close up on me now.”

The cane was more savage than ever, blow after blow without pause, and I screamed and screamed and screamed.

“NO! PLEASE, NO!”

“CRY FOR ME!” he screamed back. “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CAT, CRY FOR ME!”

But I couldn’t cry. There were no tears left for me, and right there, bound and bruised, I realised I was scared, not of the cane, or of Masque, or of the strangers at the windows. I was scared of crying, scared of breaking. I was absolutely fucking petrified of letting it all go. I was shouting before I registered my own voice. “PARIS! PARIS, PARIS, PARIS!”

There was instant silence, only the ringing of my ears in the stillness. Then there was him, his fingers at my ankles, my bindings undone in a heartbeat. He freed my wrists and then I was off the bench, in warm arms, cradled between his thighs as he rocked me on the floor.

“Jesus, Lydia, I’m so fucking sorry.” I caught my breath, feeling his heartbeat almost as fast as my own. “It was too much,” he said. “Much too much.”

But it wasn’t. That wasn’t it. “No,” I said. “It wasn’t you.” I raised my eyes to his and started in shock. “Your mask!”

“Shh,” he said, stroking my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But they can see you!” I turned to the window, finding everyone else as shocked as I was.

“Just tell me you’re ok.”

I managed a smile. “I’m ok. I’m fine, now. I’m fine.”

He kissed my eyes and I wished beyond wished there were tears for him. “We’ll stop now, let me get your clothes.”