“One thing I’m curious about,” Ronan continued as he walked slowly around the naked girl, who had managed to keep her fingers laced behind her head during the exercise. “And that’s how comfortable you are with your body. With exposing yourself in ways that might please your Master.”
“My body is yours, Sir, to command as you see fit.”
Ronan nodded, her words like fingers circling his cock. An idea suddenly leaped into his mind, fueled by the memory of a trainer’s critique from Hailey’s time at The Compound. It would be most interesting to see how she’d progressed in that regard. Excited, he snapped, “Drop your arms. Go over to the spanking bench. Position yourself on the bench so you are kneeling, ass in the air, forehead down.”
He followed her as she moved to the bench, admiring the slight sway of her hips. Her ass was small but nicely rounded, an excellent target for a whip or cane, or his bare hand. She assumed the position on her knees, her forehead pressed against the soft leather. He hadn’t given her instruction regarding her hands, and she folded them prettily at the base of her back, wrists crossed, fingers relaxed.
Ronan crouched beside her, awed at the awareness of his extraordinary power over another human being, power she’d willingly given him. He placed his hand on her back, palm flat. Hailey tensed slightly at his touch. He moved his hand slowly up her spine, pressing lightly against the supple muscles with his fingers until he felt her tension ease.
Now for the test.
He removed his hand and scooted around so he was directly behind her. “Reach back and spread your ass cheeks. Lift your ass higher and show me your asshole.”
Though he couldn’t see her face, she didn’t react immediately—cause for punishment, but for now he let it pass as he waited to see what she would do. She let out a breath and slowly moved her hands, finally bringing them to rest on her pretty little bottom.
She reached for her ass cheeks and pulled them apart. Ronan could feel her hesitation as if it were a force field between them, but she did finally do as she was told.
He moved behind her and, licking his finger, touched the little asterisk. “This is an area of sensitivity for you,” he remarked. He pushed his finger into the tight opening. “Tell me, Hailey. Do you like anal sex?”
He knew the answer from her slave portfolio, but wanted to hear her say it.
“If it pleases you, Sir. My body is yours.”
He pushed the finger in deeper. “I’m not asking about my pleasure or my property. Answer the question as asked. Do you like anal sex?”
She hesitated and then said, haltingly, “Y-yes, Sir. I like the submissive aspect of it.”
Ronan cocked an eyebrow and grinned to himself. Good save. She hadn’t lied, at least not precisely. He believed her statement, as far as it went. He had asked the wrong question. He clarified. “Do you like the feel of something inside your ass? A cock, say, or a butt plug?”
“No, Sir,” she whispered. “Not really.”
“Not really?” He moved his finger inside her ass. “What does that mean? Either you do, or you don’t.”
“I have a hard time relaxing, Sir. I’m not really sure why. But when I tense up, it…it hurts, Sir.”
“It hurts?” Ronan chuckled. “But you’re a masochist. Pain is a good thing.”
“Yes, Sir. Certain types of pain, yes. I just—I don’t know. I have a hard time with it. My trainer at The Compound said I have, uh, issues with my asshole, Sir. He said I still required work in that area. I’m—I’m sorry, Sir.”
Tenderness suffused him, along with a kind of admiration. Would he ever be able to make himself as vulnerable to another person as this girl so willingly made herself for him? “No need to apologize,” he said gently. “I appreciate your honesty, Hailey. Your issue with anal play is something we can work on together, you and I.” He withdrew his finger.
“But right now, I have something else in mind. I made a very exciting purchase recently, something I’ve been looking to acquire for quite some time. You get to be my first subject.” He tapped her shoulder, a gesture he was aware was used routinely at The Compound to signal to a slave they should rise from their position.
She lifted herself from the bench and stood beside him. He noted the flush on her cheeks and neck, and knew the exercise had been a difficult one for her. He tucked the knowledge away as he led her to his most recent acquisition, which enjoyed pride of place along the center of one wall.
“Know what that is?”
~*~
“Not exactly, Sir.” Hailey stared at the wooden frame with its roller, bars and manacles, relieved the focus had shifted from her asshole. “Some kind of torture device?” she guessed.
“That’s right. It’s a rack. A medieval torture rack like the kind used in the Inquisition to get poor bastards to confess—well, to confess to anything at all, whether it was true or not.” Ronan led her closer, as stories she had read in history texts about heretics put to the rack took on a new and immediate meaning.
“This is a replica, of course, but a very good one. Do you know how it works?”
“No, Sir,” Hailey said, both intrigued and frightened by the ominous device.
“The subject’s wrists are fastened to this roller, here”—he touched the wooden roller at the top of the rack that spanned the width of the frame, indicating the cuffs secured by chains on either side—“and her ankles are chained like so.” He pointed to the cuffs affixed on sidebars at the bottom of the frame.
“During the Inquisition, as the interrogation progressed,” Ronan continued, putting his hand on a metal lever attached to one side of the roller, “the torturer would use this handle to gradually increase the tension on the chains. After a certain point, the effect was excruciatingly painful.” He turned the handle, and the roller slowly rotated on its axis.
Hailey’s mouth was suddenly dry, her heart skittering like a trapped mouse in her chest. At the same time, her cunt was throbbing, her nipples still tingling from Master Ronan’s recent touch.
“Being stretched on the rack was bad enough,” he went on, a cruel, sensual smile on his handsome face, “but that was just the beginning.” They stood side-by-side facing the rack. Ronan put his arm around her shoulders, his hand dropping casually to one breast. His fingers found her nipple, which immediately stiffened in response. Though she’d meant to remain still, she found herself leaning in to his touch. If they’d been lovers, she would have turned to him and pulled his face down to hers for a kiss.
But of course they were not lovers, and she held herself still. She kept her eyes on the rack as Master Ronan continued to weave his dark spell around her. “Once they had the prisoner confined in her chains, her naked body stretched to the breaking point,” he murmured, dipping his head so his words tickled her ear, “things would go from bad to worse, the torture only limited by the imaginations of the interrogators. This could include the usual methods of flogging or whipping the bound subject, and if the desired confession still wasn’t obtained, might progress to burning the prisoner’s flanks with torches, or using pincers made with specially designed grips to tear out finger and toenails.”
His arm remained around her shoulders, his fingers still toying with her nipple. “As you might imagine,” he murmured, “the prisoner would admit to pretty much anything her tormentors wanted to avoid that kind of pain.”
He let her go and turned to face her. “Hey,” he chided with a grin, “don’t look so terrified. I’m not nearly as sadistic as those misguided fanatics. As we both understand, erotic torture bears little in common with that barbaric treatment. For those of us hardwired like you and me, the pleasure and the erotic pain, the power and the submission, intertwine into something…” He paused, as if searching for the word.
Sublime, Hailey thought, though she didn’t volunteer the word since he hadn’t given her permission to speak.
“Sublime,” he said with a sudden smile, as if somehow she’d managed to send the word directly into his
brain. Despite her trepidation about being placed on the rack, Hailey found herself smiling back.
Ronan stepped closer to the rack and turned toward her. His eyes were glittering in a way that at once thrilled and terrified her. “Come here. It’s time.”
Hailey’s breath hiccupped in her throat and she had to make a concerted effort to calm herself. Up until that moment she had instinctively trusted her new Master, but suddenly she felt unsure. They were alone on his property. Yes, others knew she was there, but no one would think to inquire or interfere, not for some time. What if, instead of a dedicated Master seeking a sincere experience with a trained submissive, Ronan Wolfe was actually a madman?
As if called up by her turmoil, George’s kind face loomed in her mind. It was clear from the brief interaction she’d witnessed between the two men that they were close friends. George wouldn’t be friends with a madman. Would he?
And then she remembered Ronan’s kiss, and afterward the way he had looked at her with such naked yearning she’d had to catch her breath, and the fear slipped back into its proper place of erotic anticipation. He was just doing that thing sensual sadists did. She was familiar enough with her trainers’ tactics in creating an atmosphere. Ronan was doing the same thing.
And this was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? What she had worked so hard at The Compound to achieve. She was no longer playing at BDSM. This wasn’t the intense but ultimately staged environment at The Compound. This was the real thing. She had given herself to another person, willingly and without reservation or recourse. The fear of the unknown could be worked through. In fact, it was part of the process, part of finally becoming who and what she was born to be.
Thus newly resolved, she stepped up onto the wooden plank at the base of the rack.
“Lean your back against the frame so you’re facing me,” Master Ronan instructed. As she obeyed, Hailey wondered if he could hear her heartbeat, which thundered in her ears.
He moved closer. “Spread your legs so your ankles are at the cuffs.”
Hailey glanced down and positioned her ankles on either side of the frame, watching as her new Master knelt and wrapped them snugly into place, securing them with Velcro closures.
He rose and stepped back. “Now your wrists.”
Hailey lifted her arms and rested her wrists against the open leather cuffs that dangled by chains from the roller on either side. Ronan closed the cuffs around each wrist and then reached for the handle to the left of the roller. He turned it slowly. As it moved, the chains at both sets of cuffs tightened, stretching Hailey’s body into a taut X.
At first the feeling was purely sensual—the rush of release and pleasure she always felt when properly bound. Then he turned it once more, and her muscles and tendons strained against the tension. He was watching her carefully. She felt faint, her heart beating wildly. He turned the handle once more, and her shoulder and knee joints popped softly. She yelped without meaning to.
Shit! Was she going to have to use her safeword so soon?
But he had let go of the handle. He moved in front of her and placed his hands over her breasts, cupping them. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “Shh, slow down. Breathe. You’re okay, Hailey.”
As she caught her breath, Hailey realized she was, indeed, okay. True, she was stretched more tautly than she’d ever been, but she was extremely limber due to her yoga training, and her muscles and tendons seemed to be adapting to the tension.
Ronan leaned closer, his lips brushing hers with just the hint of a kiss that nearly had her begging for more. He leaned away, his hands still cupping her breasts. He must have been able to feel the pounding of her heart. “That’s as far as I’ll go with the roller. I would never harm you.”
He moved his hands from her breasts, trailing them down her stomach to her thighs. He cupped her cunt with his right hand and stroked the heat between her spread legs. She was unable to stop the low, feral moan of pure lust his touch wrenched from her lips. His smile as he stared into her eyes was a knowing one, and she felt the heat of a blush flame over her face and neck.
“You’re wet, slave Hailey. Did you know that?”
Her face still hot, Hailey nodded and then forced herself to answer. “Yes, Sir.”
“Why are you wet, slave?”
Hailey blew out a breath. “Because I’m bound to the rack, Sir. It’s that feeling of being held down, the giving over of myself. I’m—I feel helpless, erotically helpless.” And because you’re about the sexiest man I’ve ever been with. No. I can’t say that. “It’s hard to explain but—”
He touched her lips with two fingers. “You just did. Perfectly. And I understand. I am the flip side of your coin, Hailey. As you were born to this, so was I. We both get it. I know what you need. Not just what you want. And I plan to give it to you.”
He stepped back, and though she couldn’t move even a fraction of an inch, Hailey strained in her bonds, her cunt throbbing, her nipples aching with longing for this man she’d only just met.
She could see the outline of his cock, long and hard beneath the white cotton shorts. His legs were strong, his stomach flat, his shoulders and chest smooth and broad. No wonder women swooned over this guy. And yet, while clearly masterful, he didn’t come off as an arrogant creep. How in the world had she gotten so lucky?
She watched as he went to the wall that contained the floggers and whips. She hoped he would choose the flogger, her favorite. Her skin began to tingle in anticipation of its sensual, all-encompassing caress. But when he returned, Master Ronan was holding a cane.
He released some kind of lever at the base of the rack and pushed the apparatus, causing the whole thing to tilt back, lifting Hailey from a standing position to a forty-five degree angle above the ground. The disorienting effect of her new position was heightened by the taut stretch of her limbs and her complete inability to move a muscle.
Standing beside her, he ran the edge of the long, thin cane along her stomach and tapped her breasts lightly with the tip. “Do you like the cane, slave Hailey?”
“Yes, Sir.” A tremor rippled through her core. Like was such an inadequate word to describe how she felt about being caned.
As if reading her mind, Master Ronan supplemented, “You’re a masochist, and you have a love-hate relationship with the cane, am I right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You thrill to its anticipatory swish in the split second before it lands, aching to feel its cleansing, sharp cut. But when it actually hits, the pain is excruciating—you can’t take it. And yet you do. And a moment later the pain eases into something deep and powerful, something that grabs hold of you and pulls you into its dark, erotic embrace. And you want another. And another. And another.”
“Oooh,” Hailey breathed, stunned at the picture his words were creating, amazed he understood so well.
“I know,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “I know.” He stepped back and raised his cane arm. “I’m going to cane you now, slave. I’m going to take your measure. You will thank me for each stroke. And if you want more, you will ask me for another. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Relax your hands.”
Hailey realized she had unwittingly clenched her hands into fists. She forced her fingers to uncurl.
“We begin.”
The first cut landed across both thighs. No gentle warming of the skin with the light tapping she was used to during caning sessions at The Compound. Just one brutal crack and then the sharp, cutting pain.
“Thank you, Sir!” Hailey cried, remembering his instruction just in time. She was breathing shallowly, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, the air shuddering through her and then easing as she blew it out. Precisely as he’d described, the pain had shifted into a dark, perfect craving, and she begged, “Please, Sir. May I have another?”
“Yes.”
The second stroke landed slightly higher than the first, the tip of the cane hitting her hipbone and sending a stingin
g jolt through her that emerged from her lips as a cry. She felt the sweat breaking out on her forehead and beneath her arms. She swallowed hard and managed, “Thank you, Sir. Please…may I have another?”
“You may.”
The third stroke hit the tender flesh of her abdomen and she groaned. “Thank you, Sir. Please, may I have another?”
She expected the next cut to land on her breasts, but instead the stroke seared across her left thigh. A rapid second stroke landed on the right. “Oh god,” she breathed. I can’t do it. But I have to. I can’t let him down. I want it. But I hate it. I want to be let off this thing. I want to suck his cock. I’m thirsty.
“Focus,” Master Ronan warned.
Focus. The word cut through the jumble of her unruly thoughts.
She was supposed to do something. Say something. Her skin was on fire, her joints and muscles aching, her heart pounding, her cunt throbbing, her senses whirling.
Focus!
Finally she remembered, and belatedly cried, “Thank you, Sir!” She swallowed and twisted to look at her tormentor. He was watching her intently, the cane poised in his hand. Waiting.
She knew what he wanted. Did she want it?
She did.
“Please, Sir. May I have another?”
“With pleasure.”
This time he struck the underside of her left breast, the blow gentler than the others had been, but it still hurt like hell against the tender skin. She hissed her pain, then managed her thanks. As much as it hurt, her right breast was aching for the symmetry of a like cut, and she asked for it. “Please, Sir. May I have another?”
He obliged, searing her second breast with the cracking cut of the cane. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back. The welts she couldn’t see but certainly could feel undulated over her skin like fiery snakes. At the same time, her cunt ached and she silently begged her new Master to climb on top of her and fill her with his hard, perfect cock.
“Slave. You are forgetting yourself.”
His words startled her and for one terrified second she was afraid she’d accidentally uttered her wanton thoughts aloud. Then she realized what she’d forgotten and hastily said, “Thank you, Sir.”
Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2 Page 4