by Gemma James
“I know, Master.” I hung my head, misery fisting my gut. “Please don’t take away my phone and car. I’m begging you. I’ll take any other punishment you wish to give.”
“Yes, you will, because you don’t have a choice. As for your privileges, we’ll discuss that later.”
His words crashed over me like a frigid wave, and they were a much-needed wake-up call because everything he gave me was a privilege and not a right. I had none in this marriage—in this fucked up union I agreed to every damn day by staying. There were no victims here—only obsessed people who knew the fucked-uppedness of their relationship and stuck through it anyway.
“Get up.” He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet, and as he escorted me to the other end of the room, near his wall of pain-inducing implements, I experienced a new level of fear. A piece of equipment I hadn’t seen before had been stowed away in the corner of the room, hidden underneath a black cloth.
He whipped the material off and revealed a wooden stockade. “I had this delivered earlier this week while you were out with Simone.”
“What is it, Master?”
“A device designed to position you for anal discipline.”
Holy shit, the thing looked medieval. It had an upright panel that tilted toward the surface at a slight angle. Holes for wrists and ankles sat top and bottom, and a cutout for where I assumed my bottom would fit took up the space front and center. He was going to lock me in that contraption and objectify my ass. Instinctively, I backed up a few feet.
“What are you going to do to me, Master?”
“To put it mildly, I’m going to make it very difficult for you to sit.”
My body shook, and I tasted blood from gnawing my lower lip.
“Come here,” he ordered.
My feet refused to move, and my heart refused to stop pounding in my ears.
“Baby, don’t fight me on this. You won’t win.” Gage stormed the few feet between us and propelled me forward. His hold on me was harsh and absolute, but his voice had softened, sending a gentle breeze onto my fiery terror.
My submission was the key to everything—freedom, forgiveness, fortitude.
Of my own free will, I slipped my sweaty palm into his and let him help me climb onto his new torture device. “H-how do you want me, Master?”
The sexy timbre of his voice cast me under a spell as he explained how to position myself. I settled horizontally onto the bench, my cheek to the wood, and spread my knees before tucking them underneath my abdomen. The wood was surprisingly smooth against my skin.
“Higher,” he murmured, fitting a palm under my bottom and pushing upward. Then he pulled his hand away and ordered me to scoot all the way back until my ass protruded through the cutout in the wood.
A mechanism sounded, and I gripped the edge of the table as Gage fastened my ankles below my exposed ass and pussy. With surprising gentleness, he pulled my arms behind my back and secured my wrists in the openings situated at the top.
It was a humiliating position, a variation of a kneeling hogtie—only more painful because a single panel of wood trapped my ankles, ass, and wrists behind me. I’d never felt so helpless, so immobile with my bottom exposed to the chilly air of the basement and cheeks spread in preparation for what I knew was going to be an excruciating punishment. My ass was well and truly stuck within the confines of his stockade.
And undoubtedly fucked.
“Before we begin, let’s get something straight, Kayla. Forgiving you earlier this year wasn’t easy, but it was necessary because I refuse to live without you. My brother, on the other hand, will never be forgiven. He knew better than to come back.”
“Please, Master. He’s not—”
“You are not to beg tonight,” Gage interrupted. “You’re going to accept this punishment without a single ‘please’ or ‘stop.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” I did understand. Begging for mercy was not only pointless, but it was humiliating.
“Ian knew the consequences of coming back. His decision to go against my wishes was not in the scope of your control—I understand that—but you will be punished for it regardless.” He walked out of sight, and I felt the heat of his body at my backside.
He slipped two fingers inside me, then forced his thumb into my dry asshole. “This is going to hurt. But I think you need a painful reminder of who you belong to.” He paused a beat. “Who owns you, Kayla?”
“You do, Master.”
“We both know I don’t need your permission to punish you, but I’m asking for it anyway. Do you give me permission to punish you as I wish?”
Oh, what a sadistic question. I considered saying no, mostly because I was curious if he’d honor my wishes for a change. I faltered for a mere second, and that was all it took to come to the conclusion that he would not bow to what I wanted. If I went against him, even verbally, he would still go through with the punishment, only he’d do his worst.
But what if I were wrong? What if accepting his firm hand and sadistic need for retribution was the only way past what I’d done today? I’d kneeled with the intention of asking for forgiveness in Gage’s language.
So I answered in the most honest yet harrowing way I could. “You have my trust and permission, Master.”
I heard him exhale—a telling sound indeed. And as he placed one palm on my left ass cheek, rubbing some warmth into my skin, I knew I’d given the right answer.
“Your submission is like a drug, baby. It’s precious, and it means the world to me.” He landed a smack that not only smarted, but it fucking turned me on. Then he repeated the stinging swat on my other cheek. Back and forth, he continued the spanking, escalating in velocity and strength until he had me tensing with each calculated swat.
Gage wasn’t doing this to punish in the painful sense; he wanted me aroused before he went haywire on my backside.
God, why did I love this sadistic prick so much?
“I love how vulnerable you are right now. You are physically incapable of denying me anything. I can beat your ass for as long as I wish, fuck it for as long as I want. Or,” he said, his tone dropping to a dangerous level, “punish it until you lose the ability to scream.”
My blood turned to ice. “Master?” I said, a mere whimper.
“No begging. I won’t warn you again. Next time you disobey me, I’ll gag you.” He commenced with the spanking for a while longer, working me into a quivering mass of arousal. “Your cunt is leaking all over the wood.”
“I’m sorry, Master.” Closing my eyes, I gnawed on my lip.
“Don’t be. I want you on edge, your cunt dripping in shame even as you tense from not knowing what I’ll do next.” He rubbed his palms over my smarting backside, then he inserted a finger into my disloyal cunt. “Are you wondering how I’m going to hurt you?”
“Yes,” I moaned, wishing I could squirm from his touch, or at the very least, block it out. I’d give anything to have control over my body, to be able to deny him in some small way.
“We’re going to go slow and steady, working our way through each implement one by one.” His hands disappeared from my backside, and he came into view, stopping in my line of sight to work the buttons of his white dress shirt free. The material slid over his shoulders and down his arms, and he laid it over the arm of a chair before unbuckling his belt.
Swish.
The belt slipped free of his pant loops. “After your ass is nice and red, and beautifully welted, we’ll move on to the punishment of your hole. I made you wet first to ready you for punishment because I do intend to make you scream.”
Tears threatened to flood my eyes. I blinked them back with sheer willpower. Crying would not endear me to him right now. He didn’t want crying or begging—only my absolute acceptance of his discipline.
And right then I understood more than ever how his mind was wired. Accepting pain equaled disowning my past with his brother. I ached to wrap my arms around him and tell him how much I loved him.
Tell him I’d never betray him again. But Gage didn’t need that. A normal man might. For Gage, true apology lay in the steadfast way I took his strikes. My redemption lay in an ass left so red and beaten and welted that the mere act of sitting would be impossible.
So I apologized in the only way he understood—I gritted my teeth and silently accepted the first strike of his belt.
11. Severity
The smoldering ash of Gage’s retribution encased my backside. He wasn’t counting tonight, which made receiving the lashes of his belt even more challenging because I didn’t know when they’d stop.
I thought they’d never stop.
Through the strikes, I refrained from sobbing, bit back every moan of pain, every whimper at the bone-chilling crack of leather against flesh. But then he moved on to a paddle riddled with holes, and I couldn’t help but let loose a whimper. The real test came with the cane, never mind the bullwhip because I couldn’t begin to comprehend making it through that, and I prayed to anyone listening that Gage would stop after the cane.
Crack!
“Ahhh! Plea—” I choked on the plea, horrified at the thought of starting from square one.
He walked to the front of the bench and stared down at me. I could only imagine what I must look like—blotchy skin from the tears that finally escaped, mouth open to pant through the pain, and strands of hair caught in my eyes, stuck to my cheek from sweat and saliva.
His soft, warm fingers brushed my hair back from my face. “What could you have done differently?”
“What do you mean, Master?”
“At the hotel when you first saw him. Tell me what you could have done differently that might have saved you this level of punishment.”
“I could’ve called you.”
“You should have called me, at the very least.”
“I know, Master. I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You disappointed me,” he said, brushing a thumb over my lips, “but you didn’t let me down. You weren’t unfaithful, and this punishment will ensure you stay loyal to me until the day you die. I won’t allow you to stumble again.”
He disappeared once more, and the next blow to my ass stole my breath. I couldn’t make a sound if I tried. His evil cane cut across my ass in sharp lines, one on top of the other, and I knew from experience that those wounds would stay with me for a while, above and below the surface.
Some time later, the cane clattered to the floor. He’d been dropping implements left and right, which was so unlike him. He reached for the bullwhip, and that’s when I slipped up. That’s when a sob escaped, and I cried out a plea in the form of his favorite title.
“Master…” God, how I choked on the word, but I almost threw up at the thought of his whip landing on top of the welts from the cane.
He came to stand in front of me again, bullwhip held in a white-knuckled grip. “Do we need to start over?”
“No! I want the bullwhip!” Desperation strung those words together, screeched in a high-pitched tone.
“Don’t lie to me. We both know you hate the bullwhip.”
“I’m sorry, Master. Don’t make me start over again.” My voice was near to pleading, which terrified me even more. “I just want this to be over.”
And that was the honest fucking truth.
He leaned down, and his lips claimed my mouth. The kiss was too brief; a fleeting moment of bliss that seemed more like a dream in my current mental state. He pulled away, and I ached to do something—anything—to bring his mouth back. As long as he kissed me, he wouldn’t hurt me anymore.
“This will be over soon, baby. Then we can move on.”
Soon was not the word I’d use. His inner sadist had taken control, and he wasn’t likely to unhand the reins anytime soon. Gage lost himself a little more to that monster with each minute that passed. And there were a lot of them. Minute after minute after minute of his bullwhip cracking through the air before it thrashed my thoroughly abused ass.
Forget composure. Forget acceptance. I screamed and cried and even cursed.
“I hate you!” I sobbed.
“I don’t blame you for saying that right now,” he said, a note of hurt tainting his voice as he brought the whip onto my ass once again.
“Fuck you! How can you be so cruel?” Hell, I lashed out in any form he’d allow. As long as I wasn’t begging for it to stop, he let me throw my agony-induced tantrums, similar to a woman in the throes of labor during the horrendous stage of transition. And that’s where I was—out of my mind with pain and so high on adrenaline that reality was a nebulous concept viewed through warped glass.
“You don’t love me,” I whined.
“I love you too much.”
Whack!
“This isn’t love!” My words echoed off the walls, and only then did I realize I’d screamed them.
“You’re probably right, but it’s the only way I know how to love.”
Whack!
“Oh God! Fuck! Fuck! It hurts, Gage. It hurts!”
“It’s supposed to hurt.”
“No,” I moaned, unable to find the strength to keep screaming at him. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.”
He dropped the whip, and as that fucker hit the ground, echoing with hope through my ears, I’d never experienced so much relief. I would never, ever cross this man again. Ever.
“Thank God,” I mumbled.
“We’re not done yet.”
But I didn’t care. He could stick his thumb up my ass all night long if he wanted, because that was a hundred times better than getting spanked, lashed with a belt, beat with a paddle, struck with a cane, and tormented with a bullwhip. I was in no hurry to examine my backside in a mirror.
Gage opened a drawer and pulled out a rod-like toy of some sort, and that’s when it hit me that he wasn’t planning to use his thumb. The instrument was long and fat, bigger than his cock, and one end had a rounded head designed for penetration.
Begging for mercy was on the tip of my tongue, so I bit it instead.
“I want anal sex to be amazing for you. To achieve that goal it’s going to take time and patience, and harsh anal punishments to remind you of how pleasurable my cock can be in comparison. You’re going to learn the differences between anal penetration for pleasure and punishment.”
“It’s too big, Master.”
He pressed a finger to my lips. “I allowed you to cry and insult me during the first portion of your discipline. But now you will remain quiet and reflect on the behavior that got you here. Don’t make me start over, Kayla.”
I clenched my teeth, knowing that I’d summon the strength to get through this. I was stronger than he realized…or maybe he did realize the extent of my resilience. Maybe that’s why he pushed so hard—because he knew I could bounce back from his shit. Maybe I was the one woman capable of surviving Gage Channing’s all-consuming sadism.
But as he inched that steel shaft up my ass, using a minimal amount of lube, I wondered if maybe they should just toss me in a loony bin and throw away the key.
12. After Care
Warm water sluiced over my head, spraying from the multiple shower heads, and dripped off my nose, running over my breasts before sliding down my spread legs. Facing the shower wall, thighs open to my husband’s questing hands, and arms over my head with my palms flat against the tile, I bit my lip as he washed me…and coaxed me to arousal.
But my mind replayed his vile use of that anal rod. He’d punished my ass slowly, first inching the thing in, allowing my anus to stretch and burn around the intrusion for a few minutes before he removed it.
Then he’d insert it again.
He must have penetrated me with that rod a dozen times—as many times as it took to lose a whole hour or more to his sick punishment of my hole.
“I’m proud of you,” he said, his fingers moving between my thighs.
“I’m pissed at you,” I bit back. Even as I sassed him, uncaring of the consequences at this point, my legs betra
yed me and opened wider to accommodate his touch. I didn’t know whether to lash out in anger, sob from the despair fisting my heart, or come all over his teasing fingers. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I pushed my ass toward him, an invitation to touch me deeper.
“How do you do this to me?”
“Do what, baby?”
“Make me want to come after everything you just did.”
“It’s a talent of mine,” he said, finally slipping his fingers inside me.
“I’m still pissed at you, Master.”
“That’s okay. You’re entitled to your emotions, Kayla. I put your ass through the ringer.”
“I’m scared to look at it.”
In response, he brushed his fingers over my stinging backside. “Your ass is gorgeous. I was careful not to draw too much blood, but you really won’t be able to sit for a couple of days. I wasn’t kidding about that.”
“Can I speak freely, Master?” The last thing I wanted was to push too hard and earn an additional punishment.
“You may.”
His gentle manner was my undoing. I plummeted in a brutal mood swing more powerful than his strikes, and a sob wrenched from my soul. “How can you love me and hurt me like this? How? I don’t understand.”
“I told you a long time ago that I’m a bastard. But I’m your bastard, Kayla. And I do love you. I love you more fiercely than the burn in your ass right now, with so much loyalty that I’d gladly kill anyone who hurt you.”
“But you hurt me.”
“And I’m the only one who ever will.” He thrust his fingers in a steady rhythm, propelling me to that glorious edge I craved. Oh, how I needed to jump off right now.
I moaned and groaned, my hands balled into fists against the tile. “Master, please.”
“Please, what?” He blew a warm breath over my bottom, and I liked that he was on his haunches behind me, practically worshipping the handiwork of his sadism while simultaneously gifting me pleasure.