The Institute, Daddy Issues(78)

I didn’t know.

“Enough idle chat­ter,” Berkley an­nounced. “Time for your pun­ish­ment.”

Be­fore I could an­swer or protest, he swung the black rid­ing crop in an ex­pert arc. It landed with a flat smack against my bare pussy lips, mak­ing me jump and gasp. Then he did it again and again…and again.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been spanked in that area but I don’t re­com­mend it—it fuck­ing hurts. There was no pad­ding to cush­ion the blows and soon my pussy lips were sting­ing like crazy. Also, un­like the spank­ing Salt had given me the night be­fore on my bot­tom, this one was all pain and no pleas­ure. I don’t know if it was be­cause someone other than my part­ner was do­ing the spank­ing or be­cause they had me tied down and help­less, but it did ab­so­lutely noth­ing to turn me on—it just hurt like a son of a bitch.

I twitched my hips from side to side, des­per­ately try­ing to avoid the blows. Berkley was an ex­pert with the crop, how­ever and I couldn’t get away from his mer­ci­less spank­ing.

“Stop—ow! Let me—ow—go!” I gasped.

“In good time.” Berkley landed one last blow and then ex­amined his handi­work. “See this, Mi­chaels?” he said to the guard, who was still watch­ing with a lust­ful look in his mud-brown eyes. “See how the outer pussy lips are all swollen and red? That’s ex­actly how you want it to look.”

“Yeah, ex­actly.” The guard was prac­tic­ally drool­ing. Clearly he was less in­ter­ested in the fine art of pussy spank­ing and more in­ter­ested in my na­ked crotch. I prayed that Berkley wouldn’t leave me alone with him. I had a feel­ing he would use more than the crop on me if he got a chance.

“Would you like to try a few strokes be­fore I in­sert the plug?” Berkley was hand­ing the other man the rid­ing crop.

“Uh…sure, I guess.” The way Mi­chaels gripped the crop I could tell he wasn’t nearly as ex­per­i­enced with its use as Berkley. And sure enough, his first blow was much harder than any of the pre­vi­ous ones landed by the dir­ector.

I had been gasp­ing and moan­ing be­fore but now I screamed in real pain. This was a del­ic­ate area that was not meant to take such rig­or­ous ab­use. I felt like I was go­ing to pass out for a minute, it hurt so badly.

“Huh—think I’m get­ting the hang of this,” Mi­chaels grunted. The look on his face said he en­joyed the sound of my agony al­most as much as he liked look­ing at my bare pussy. Sick bas­tard.

“Very good.” Berkley nod­ded and I saw that he was get­ting out a bottle of lube, pre­sum­ably to help with the plug in­ser­tion. “Try again but use a little more fin­esse this time. It’s all in the flick of the wrist.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mi­chaels raised the crop, a greedy look on his lump­ish fea­tures.

But the blow never fell.

Sud­denly Salt was loom­ing in the door­way with a look on his face that was ter­rible to be­hold. His fa­cial fea­tures were ab­so­lutely calm and cold but there was murder in his ice blue eyes. I thought it must be the same way he’d looked when he killed his own father.

Step­ping for­ward into the room he grabbed Mi­chael’s raised arm. With one swift mo­tion, he brought it down around be­hind the man’s back and then sharply up.

There was a muffled pop­ping sound and Mi­chaels dropped the rid­ing crop and screamed like a little girl. Then Salt had him by the neck, lift­ing him off the floor as though it was noth­ing to hold a two hun­dred and fifty-pound man sev­eral feet off the ground.

Berkley looked up from his plug pre­par­a­tion, clearly startled.

“Mr. Saltanov,” he ex­claimed. “What do you think you’re do­ing?”

“I could ask same thing.” The look in Salt’s eyes was very ugly. “I leave my mishka alone for a few minutes and the next thing I know I am hear­ing her scream­ing. Then I come up and find this.” He nod­ded at the stunned Mi­chaels who was still strug­gling feebly in his grasp. One of his arms was cocked at an un­nat­ural angle—either it was broken or the shoulder was popped out of its socket. I couldn’t say I felt very sorry for him either way.

“But—” Berkley pro­tested.

“How dare you touch her?” Salt growled, his eyes hot with rage. “How dare you hurt her? Mishka is mine—mine. No one is to touch her but me.”