by Maren Smith
“Yes, what?” Reeve demanded.
“You know how I’m to be addressed,” Eric added, a tweak of his fingers making her back arch and her pussy weep.
“Yes, Daddy!” she cried, but it was just words. At this point, she’d forgotten what question she was supposed to be answering. The fingers, the welts, the crops in their hands ready to sting her with the next lash—those were all that mattered now, and damn if her heart wasn’t pounding with the excitement of being trapped between two very experienced wolves.
Another unspoken command. Eric released her breast, catching a fistful of her hair now too as both men muscled her to the foot of the bed. She fought nothing as they bent her over it. The rag-sewn comforter was soft and fresh-smelling underneath her cheek; the edge of the footboard bit into her hips.
“What are we going to do to you on this bed?” Reeve demanded.
“Whatever you want to,” Sandy all but whimpered. Bent like this, she was exposed with little more than a lacy thong to cover her and a sex so wet from what they were doing that she could feel the coolness of it drying on her thighs. She snapped her legs together, sure that one if not both of them had to be looking. Maybe it was her imagination, fueled by arousal and embarrassment, but already she thought she could smell herself. Was it that obvious? Could they smell her now too? She caught her breath, biting her lip. “I knew we were going to share a bed when I saw the other room. I didn’t think it through until then, but I…”
“That’s why you asked to be reassigned.”
“Not for that reason,” Sandy admitted, knowing she was dancing perilously close to saying things she shouldn’t. Especially when she had no prepared lies to cover her tracks. “But I came back, and I apologized. And I knew what I was getting into when I did that.”
“She knew what she was getting into,” Eric echoed to Reeve.
As if on cue, they both released her.
“You haven’t earned my cock,” Reeve said, shoving back off the bed.
“Nor have you earned mine.” Eric followed him, and the coolness of their bodies’ absences left her shaken.
They took up sides, Reeve to her right and Eric to her left.
“Put your hands flat on the bed,” Reeve commanded, gripping and re-gripping the handle of his crop. “Reach back, and I’ll flay the skin right off you.”
Sandy locked her hands on the bedcover.
“I want you to count. Say: One, I’m Master’s disobedient girl and I deserve my whipping.”
Her bottom clenched, but in the position she was in, she had no defense. She was as vulnerable as she had ever been, and submissive—something she’d never thought she would be. Yet, she didn’t hate it. This was as far from hatred as any emotion could be. It wasn’t even tolerance, something to endure just to get the job done. This was lust, pure and throbbing in all the parts of her that could throb. Her belly was trembling and so were her legs, and she wasn’t stupid. She knew what saying those words meant. She knew what would happen in every fiber of her being, right on down to the three welts already tightening across her buttocks. And still, her voice barely muffled by the blankets, she let herself fall to the seduction of obedience. “One, I’m Master’s disobedient girl and I deserve my whipping.”
The snap of the crop was just as startling as the first had been, and yet it felt tempered. Hard was a matter of perspective. She herself couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be struck harder, but at the same time, she could well imagine how much harder Reeve could hit were he so inclined. Her knees bumped the footboard as the hurt chewed into her, a line of pure fire that lanced across her buttocks, followed by white hot pain as the blood rushed in to form another welt.
“I don’t like that one!” she squealed, writhing in the bedding with the effort it took to stay in position. She barely knew she was saying it out loud as she panted, “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
As if they’d care, right? The big bad wolves, Masters of the Castle, what did it matter if their submissive didn’t like the implements they chose?
A man’s broad hand cupped between her legs. It was a hold as possessive as it was unexpected, and she didn’t even know whose hand it was. She couldn’t bring herself to look. It felt as if it would be disobedient and he’d told her to stay. The struggle was all internal, but that didn’t make it less real.
The hand massaged, molding her slick folds to his palm, and filling the silence within that cabin with the sound of wetness. She groaned, covering her head with both arms and burying her burning face in the bedding. She’d never be able to look at either one of them again. Not without remembering this and dying all over again with quiet shame.
“Is it too much?” Reeve’s voice sounded distant. He’d moved away from her. That meant it was Eric’s hand she felt, cupping and squeezing between her legs until it was all she could do not to grind her hips into his touch.
She thought she heard the cupboard open again. Implements clattered, shifting as Reeve dug back in among them. Far more frightening in those few seconds was her dread of the unknown. Did he put the crops back? What if he returned with something far worse? And damn it, she had to try harder to ignore what Eric was doing with his hand. Did Reeve know he was doing this? Did he approve? She threw back her head, fixing her attention desperately on the ceiling as he patted her, gently spanking her naughty pussy and bringing Sandy right to the verge of sobbing. Then he took his hand away and Sandy jerked back, startled as two condom packets flew out of nowhere to land on the blanket right in front of her face. She blinked twice, at first unable to make sense of them. When the meaning did hit her, it was anything but unwelcome.
“Tell me if you like this better,” Reeve said, and her entire body jolted against the footboard when the first loud swat of his leather paddle flattened both her buttocks at once.
Condoms instantly forgotten, she sucked in a loud gasp. Her bottom rolled, processing the impact. The sting wasn’t as intense as the crop had been. It still hurt, but it was a gentler hurt, if such could be believed. It kicked the eroticism up a notch, and she was already drowning in a sea of it.
“How does that feel?”
He couldn’t really expect her to talk right now, could he? She buried her face again, mortified, and the hand once more delved between her legs. Only it was Reeve’s hand this time. The touch was rougher, more possessive and demanding. His fingers didn’t caress her clit. They captured it, tweaked to get her attention, and once he had it, spanked to make sure she knew whose touch she suffered now. It was no hardship. Her toes positively curled when she heard the hunger in his voice.
“Oh, I think she likes this just fine.”
“My turn, then,” Eric said. “Move your hand. I wouldn’t want to smack it.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, Reeve let her go.
“Look at me.” Eric gave the top of her head a ruffle and a pat. The contact helped to gather her attention, to reground her in the here and now of what he was saying. “I expect you to count for me, too.”
Count? She felt foggy. Count what?
“Say, ‘One, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.’ I also want you to open your legs. Spread them wide apart. Show us your pretty little kitty, so we can see how naughty and wet you are.”
The quivering in her stomach and thighs only grew more pronounced. Her mortification was scalding. Shifting her hips on the uncomfortable footboard, she spread her legs.
“Wider,” Eric coaxed.
She did, but not wide enough, apparently, because Reeve seemed to lose patience with it. She stiffened, yelping when he stepped right into the middle of her thighs, cupping between her legs, and hupped her limbs as far apart as they could go.
“Wider,” he told her, “means fucking wider. It doesn’t mean ‘only as wide as you think you can get away with’.” He seized her burning cheeks in each hand, squeezing and prizing her cheeks apart in a way that made his fingers dig into her welts. “It means we want to fucking look at you. Got it?”
&n
bsp; She couldn’t breathe until he let her go. Sucking for air, the welts throbbing hotter than before, she stammered, “Y-yes, Master.”
Releasing one cheek, Reeve swatted her puss first. She yelped, and then shouted when he followed with an equally powerful spank to her much more sensitive anus. Then he let her go. “Don’t test me again.”
Her body shook, lost in a whirl of confusion, passion and need, but Eric gave her no time to figure it out.
“Count,” he ordered, both cheerful and warning.
“One, Daddy,” she choked. “Thank you, Daddy.”
His leather paddle caught her full across both buttocks. The jolting impact went straight to her sex, stinging and sizzling, tingling her there every bit as badly as it did her bottom.
“Count,” Reeve growled.
Her voice shook. “Two, I’m Master’s disobedient girl.” Her breath caught. Her hands were fists near her cheeks, holding onto the bedding while her hips rolled and humped against the footboard while she awaited the next blow.
“And I deserve?” he prompted.
“My whipping,” she moaned, the very words culminating in a thump of pure arousal. She melted into the bedding.
Chapter 10
Reeve only gave her ten. Ten fiery swats that made her back arch and her ass writhe. He was being magnanimous.
No, he wasn’t. He was fucking distracted.
It was the sigh that did him in. The sigh, followed by the wilt, the utter relaxation of a submissive succumbing to the allure of subspace. Topspace was calling just as sweetly, but he fought it back. He had to concentrate, keep himself alert, watch her body language for signs that she’d had enough even when she herself didn’t yet know it.
He stopped asking her to count. Flashing him a look of surprise, Eric did too, and together they simply fell into a rhythm of swats and rubs, moisture tests and nipple tweaks. And God, did she get wet. He’d never known a woman to get so wet. It was as if she’d never truly been aroused before and now, having found a trigger, she just flowed. And flew, absorbing each swat with little more than squeaking cries, sultry moans, and teasing side-to-side wriggles of her bottom that he’d have loved to answer with his cock.
His self-control began to fray. He paddled her harder, but in the back of his mind he had already moved on to other things. An anal hook inserted deep up her ass, tied to her hair while her wrists and ankles were fixed to a spreader bar, keeping her open and bent over. He wondered if she could take the stinging burn of wax being dripped all over her. He wondered if she could take the constant and repeated stimulation of a vibrating wand strapped to her thigh with the head of it right on her clit. The clit he couldn’t wait to lick and suck, and deliberately grow out the stubble on his chin just to hear her squeals as he scrubbed it between her legs.
He regretted not having put a pillow beneath her hips from the start, but it wasn’t until he laid the paddle aside and stepped up behind her—unwittingly blocking Eric from continuing too; his friend tossed his paddle on the bed with an elaborate shrug, but an expression that suggested he’d been expecting it—that Reeve realized she’d have bruises where the edge of the footboard had bit into her belly and pubis. If she was going to have bruises, he wanted them to be from him, not the bed. He didn’t even want those marks to come from Eric, his own best friend, whom he’d shared many a woman with, both here and out in the real world, back before he could even put a label on why he liked to slap ass while he was fucking it or why the tears of a woman as she choked on his cock turned him on even more.
Because Reeve had staked his claim at her lower half, Eric climbed up onto the bed and jealousy hit hard and low. Reeve felt the tightening in his balls and the throbbing of a cock that only wanted to be buried to the hilt within all the juicy wetness that his fingers couldn’t help now playing in as he finger-fucked her. She wasn’t a one-finger or two-fingers kind of girl, either. Oh no, three were Sandy’s sweet spot. Three was the magic number that made her claw the blankets, grunting and moaning and grinding on his hand with the mindless abandon of a woman who only wanted more.
“There’s Daddy’s good little girl,” Eric teased. Running his fingers through her hair, he pulled at the buttons of his pants even as he positioned himself to kneel in front of her. “Are you going to suck Daddy’s cock and thank him for spanking your naughty bottom?”
Had Reeve not had his fingers in her, he never would have felt the tightening clench and shiver that went through her just then. Had he not been fighting back the jealousy as his own best friend took the prize everyone in this room had known he would do right from the very start, then he never would have noticed her tiny twitch of reluctance. For just a second, she seemed to be fighting herself not to recoil. Then she mewed, a sound of distress that could easily have been mistaken for longing. Only Eric wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t hear it, and Reeve sure as hell recognized it for what it was.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” Eric asked, his tone still low, still seductive, perfectly practiced not to pull her out of her headspace, but treading cautiously now. Walking the tightrope of shaky consent. “Tell me what you want.”
Her brow beetled. Her gaze was locked on the bulge of his cock, and there was wanting there, but it was conflicted. Her pussy felt anything but conflicted, however. When Reeve released her waist, shifting his stance to get a better look at what subtle hints her face might show, she must have thought he was going to remove his hand.
Her muscles contracted, her pussy clamping down to hold on to him. “Don’t go,” she whimpered.
“What do you want?” Eric said again, tightening his grip and hardening his tone. He gave her head a gentle shake, but in that moment Reeve knew exactly what she wanted. She might not; he was willing to bet anything she was struggling, not just within the cloud of subspace but falling now rapidly out of it, in order to find the words to fit the unfamiliar wanting that consumed her. But he knew, and that unexpected knowledge filled him with a surge of such power, he felt indomitable.
She cried out when he took his fingers from her, but that only made the feeling stronger. Yes, cry for me. She could cry all she wanted, he fucking loved tears. He also loved the way her breath caught and her eyes flew wide when he grabbed her pussy in one hand and dislodged Eric’s grip to seize a fistful of her hair in his other. He yanked her head back, bringing her ear right to the edge of his lips.
“Who’s your master?” he demanded.
Her pussy convulsed, and then began to throb. He could feel it, the pulse of her arousal beating beneath his fingertips in a way she was too innocent and too new to know how to hide.
“You,” she whispered.
“Daddy Eric has gone through a lot of trouble to take care of you, hasn’t he?”
She didn’t look at Eric, but she did try to nod. A faltering attempt that Reeve didn’t relax his hold enough to allow. “Yes.”
“I think he should be thanked for it, don’t you?”
Her lashes fluttered. She gazed on Eric’s cock, only half-hidden behind his own hand. “Yes,” she sighed, her body melting, dripping through his fingers as he squeezed her captured pussy lips to make sure he held her attention.
“I expect you to be grateful. I expect you to give him all the attention he deserves for the time he spent with you, not just in his correction, but all fucking day long. Because he could have been anywhere, with anyone, but he wasn’t. He was with you. Now, open your mouth, relax your jaw, breathe when he tells you to breathe, hold it when he says hold it, and if you spit instead of swallow, I will pull the crop back out of the cupboard and you won’t sit for a week.”
“Yes, sir,” Sandy sighed, that fluttering pulse of lust teasing at his fingertips between her widely-splayed legs.
“Saddle up,” Reeve said, and for the life of him, he didn’t know if he was talking to Eric or himself.
So much for not touching her with his own cock. He let her go only long enough to whip his shirt off over his head. His belt and fly wer
e undone in record time, and he shoved his pants down far enough not to be in his way before he was in her. She might be a three-fingers girl, but she was hot the way only heaven should be and she fit him tight as a dream. His groan was more of a growl, one that mingled with Eric’s breathy, “That’s it. That’s a good girl. Relax your jaw. Let me control the movements.”
Sandy was a woman made for fucking. She was made for ownership. He didn’t mind watching Eric slide his cock between her welcoming lips now that he knew she wanted his permission first. She wanted his ownership. She probably wasn’t even thinking of it that way, not yet. At this point, he’d be surprised if she was running on anything other than endorphins and desire, but the desire was there and it was strong. And it was centered on him, and God help him if that didn’t line up with exactly what he was feeling too.
He let the moment catch him up. He let himself get lost in the rhythm of simply owning and earning. Like the bruises she was earning now, not just the ones from the footboard, but the ones his fingers were leaving where he grasped her hips as he rode her. His thighs between hers kept her from closing her legs. No, he wanted her open. He wanted her to know how open she was, that he was watching as his own cock pumped in and out of her, bathed in the oils of her body. He let go of her hair and prized her bottom cheeks apart, letting her feel that vulnerability as he looked at her there now too.
“Don’t worry,” he puffed, slamming to get in deeper. “I take what I own. I’ll be here soon.”
He covered her back entrance with his thumb, pressing in just far enough to hear her gasp and mew around the slow, deep thrusts Eric was filling her with.
“Deep breath,” Eric said, and pushed even deeper. He was choking her. Reeve could feel each heavenly contraction of her body as she struggled to relax, but Eric had her by the head and the throat, and he was pushing deeper than she could ignore. Reeve slammed into the tightening of her convulsing muscles, until the slapping of his pelvis against her ass sounded like spanking all over again.