“Down you go, rest your chest on the bed, arms overhead. Good girl, that’s right. Spread your legs wide for me.”
She didn’t look back as she settled her torso on the bed and extended her arms over her head. She’d asked for this. She spread her legs wide, imagining herself spread before him, ready for him. The weight of stiff leather made her shudder when he set the crop across her back and moved around the bed. She watched him unravel the long straps that were attached to each corner of the bed and wound them around her wrists, first the right, then the left. He then tugged and adjusted their length, lifting her just a little higher so that the footboard carried most of her weight and only the tips of her toes touched ground. She closed her legs a little, adjusting to the new position, but he came behind her and before she knew it, her ankles too were bound by similar straps, spreading her wide open. When he was finished, she watched him set a large mirror on the wall just in front of the bed. He positioned it so that she could see herself completely. Meeting her eyes in the mirror, he smiled, pleased.
When he stepped behind her, she felt, for one instant, panic. She tugged at her bonds but neither those at her wrists nor those at her ankles gave. They held her firm, her body now an offering as he lifted the leather from her back.
“How many until you cry?” he asked, his eyes on her widespread bottom.
She tugged again; his voice sounded too different. “Master!” she called, needing him back. Needing Luke.
His eyes in the mirror looked darker; aroused definitely, but also something else.
“I want to give you pain, Emma,” he whispered. Just a few simple words that set her on fire.
He waited, quiet, watching. She knew in that instant that he needed to do this as much as she needed him to do it. She wanted him to hurt her, to punish her, and it had nothing to do with running out on him the night before.
Time passed while they looked at one another, as if seeing each other for the first time.
“I want the pain,” she said, her voice so small. “Master.”
His lips twitched but there was no smile. He nodded once and broke eye contact before moving behind and just to the side of her. Without pause he lifted his arm and when leather hit flesh, her cry echoed through the room.
He didn’t speak a word, nor did he meet her eyes on the mirror. The bonds held her tight, allowing her the comfort of struggle with the knowledge of no release. It felt safe, oddly, even as the crop bit into her flesh, leaving welts on her otherwise pale skin. The hiss it made as it moved through the air was as terrifying and as satisfying as the blows were painful, each one sharper than the last. She didn’t count but gave herself over to her punishment while pain burrowed itself deep beneath her skin, becoming a part of her, a very necessary part.
He moved, changing position and even swinging with his left arm. Her words made no sense as she choked on tears, but the worst was yet to come. Her ass burned and throbbed, but when he began to mark her thighs, the pain went to a whole other level and she knew she would never in her life forget that sound. It took all she had not to call out. Instead, she fisted her hands and tightened the muscles of her legs, clenching her buttocks and releasing while he covered her from the middle of her thighs to the top of her buttocks. She closed her eyes and began counting, arching her back in one breath and tucking under in the next, not knowing whether she wanted him to stop or to beat her harder. Although the sound and the crop’s bite didn’t fade away, she found a peace in the rhythm and her body relaxed, taking her punishment and almost relishing in the pain.
When he stopped, it was as instant and with as little ceremony as when he’d begun. She opened her eyes, her bottom throbbing, on fire.
He dropped the crop to the floor. She lifted her head from the bed and waited, suddenly aware of the heat inside her pussy. She wanted him to pound into her with the same force he’d used to punish her; she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“Seven,” he said from behind her.
She listened to the sound of him undressing, then that of a condom being unwrapped.
“Seven strokes before you cried,” he finished.
His naked thighs pressed against the backs of hers and she stiffened, sucking in a breath. But the next sensation, that of his fingers pushing into her pussy, made her muscles clench, the pain of her punished bottom mixing with pure need.
“Now,” he said, withdrawing those fingers and sliding them upwards. “I’ll take what I wanted yesterday,” he said, his fingers rubbing her juices over her asshole.
She moaned when he next applied a spicy lubricant. “It burns,” she said, but she enjoyed the sensation, the burning inside and out as his finger prepared her passage, first one, then two and soon, the head of his cock.