by Maren Smith
“Are you wearing panties?” he countered.
Sandy shook her head, certain she’d just misheard him. “Panties?” she echoed. She’d just bared her soul and, what, he was still mentally looking for a Playboy cover spread? “Of course I’m wearing them. I always—”
“Take them off.”
She opened her mouth to refuse but Reeve stood up. The sheer size of him stopped her. He was so tall. How did he do that, turning his own authority and masculinity into a weapon that instantly shut her up like this? Her throat choked in. Her nipples pulsed, a single thump of raw wanting that her pussy matched without a single hope of ever feeling his touch down there again.
Sandy looked at her pants. Flustered, she rubbed her hands over the coarse denim. “B-but I’m wearing jeans.” What did he want her to do, strip out of everything so he could steal a cheap thrill-peek at her naked pussy?
Turning, he circled to the back of Marshall’s desk. Glancing once up at the two canes crisscrossed on the wall between the windows, he selected a crook-handled cousin out of the column of canes behind his chair. Made of slender rattan, it bent when he flexed it, as supple as a switch.
Coming back around the desk, he resumed his place at the edge of the desk. Tapping the end of the lethal-looking cane against the floor, he said, “I didn’t ask you what the obstacles of obedience were. I asked you to remove your underwear.”
She stared at the cane, unable to think anything except how it had felt being Little Red Riding Hood in that cabin in the woods. How fiercely the bite of his crop had stung her then. “I don’t like canes,” she whispered, cringing so badly even her toes felt curled inside her shoes.
Half laughing, half sighing, Reeve took a moment to collect his patience and then tried again. “I didn’t ask you what implement was easiest for you to take. I told you to take your panties off.”
“B-but—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off. “I told you to stop apologizing; you told me to give you hope. The problem is, it’s not hope that you want; it’s absolution, and absolution only comes one way. And it’s not via the things we can easily take.”
Sandy didn’t think she was breathing. Her chest was moving and she could hear each shallow and shaky in and exhaling breath, but her lungs were aching and her head was starting to pound. Clasping her hands in her lap, she tried to hide how badly they were shaking. “I don’t like this part.”
“Nobody likes this part.” He tapped the floor with the end of his cane again. “But when it’s over, I can almost guarantee that what you’ve done to yourself these last few months will have been far more painful than what I’m going to do.”
She wasn’t sure she believed that.
“Take off your panties,” Reeve said again. “Unless you weren’t serious. In which case, your book looks wonderful, I’m glad you’re happy—happier—and it was really good to see you again.” He nodded, seemingly as much to himself as to her. “Thank you so much for coming.”
In other words, she could leave. But then, she could always leave—the Castle was founded on consent, even when it was punishment, and especially when it was awful. But the sharpness of the few crop strokes she was familiar with were very much in the forefront of her mind. She hated canes. In fact, the only part she liked about the whole spanking process was the throbbing tenderness once it was done.
Being held wasn’t bad, either, although it wasn’t likely to happen today. Still, the forgiveness part alone would make this worth it. All she had to do was work up the courage to let him just take care of it.
With trembling fingers and a racing mind, Sandy set her laptop bag on the floor and made herself stand up. She unfastened her jeans.
“I said off,” Reeve reminded, “not down. You’re going to want to start with your shoes.”
Sinking back into her chair, she pulled off her sneakers, then carried that struggle on to her pants. It was a peculiar sensation, having to get half-undressed in front of a man. It wasn’t like getting undressed for a bath or even sex. It was different, more vulnerable.
It was the socks. The socks weren’t sexy. She couldn’t even fake sexiness while standing half-dressed in a shirt that didn’t come down far enough to cover herself in front, and socks. Oh God, she felt… bad. Not naughty, but bad. She was a bad girl who was now facing down the consequences of her terrible actions. She waited for the dread, but oddly, what she felt more than anything else was relief. It wouldn’t be pleasant and it wouldn’t be fun, but Reeve was going to take care of it.
“Turn around.” He twirled his finger and she reluctantly followed. “I want you to bend over and grab the seat of your chair.”
She wished she’d worn a longer shirt. She wished she owned a longer shirt.
Bending, Sandy did as she was told. Bracing her arms against the seat, she found herself looking underneath herself at her own bare legs. Through the crack between them, she watched as Reeve pushed off Marshall’s desk to take up a disciplinarian’s position beside her. The pale length of the rattan switch caressed a warning up the backs of each of her legs before delivering a gentle tap to both sides.
“Spread ‘em.” He tapped repeatedly until she edged her feet apart. “Wider. Wider, woman.”
Her thighs felt the strain before he was satisfied. But now, instead of tapping the inner slopes of her legs, the cane was sliding its warning caress across the lower swell of her backside.
“How many strokes do you think you deserve?”
He was going to make her pick? That took cruelty to a whole new level.
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure she could take more than one, but if she said that he’d probably laugh at her. Or he’d accuse her of not being serious. To be honest, she did deserve more, but how much more? Was six a decent number? Three had damn near killed her. Maybe she should say ten. Would that show she was serious, or should she go higher still?
“Pick, or I will,” he warned, tapping her bottom with the cane.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighed, relieved. She wasn’t going to have to pick after all. “Thank you.”
“You’re new,” Reeve said, amused. “Which is the only reason I’m not going to start at twenty, add two more strokes for sass, and then increase the increments every time you misbehave during the course of your caning.”
Her eye got huge. Twenty? Jesus, she couldn’t take three. “Oh, o-okay.”
“If I do this,” he warned, “then whatever I decide, that’s it. No arguments, no disobedience, and when discipline is done, it’s all the way done. Agreed?”
All she could feel was the whip-thin rattan measuring its first attack against her naked flesh. Sandy nodded.
“All right then, let’s break down the sins.”
A shiver ran up her back at the way he said that. All the flesh now facing the switch prickled dreadfully.
“For not fully investigating the merits of your story before casting accusations.”
Sandy braced herself when the cane left her, but there was no bracing for how severe the sting of its returning bite would be. It sliced through the air, whucking into the soft curve of her naked bottom and driving her right up onto the tips of her toes. She danced from foot to foot, sucking air, struggling through that first wave of pain so searingly intense that she couldn’t help but shout. She almost stood up, too, wanting so much to grab her ass in both hands. As if the hurt were a physical thing she could knock off if only she rubbed hard or fast enough.
Standing back, Reeve watched until her contortions eased and she gradually came back down off her toes.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, but she stayed bent. She fixed her hands on the seat, not just bracing herself for the next blow, but almost welcoming it.
“For every lie you told.”
For the first time, Sandy understood the massive difference between the force of the strokes Little Red had received and what he was giving her now. That had been play. This was real, and when the cane lashed across her ass, n
o amount of inner determination could keep her from leaping back up onto her tiptoes again. She danced and squealed, waggling her bottom up and down.
“For every lie you told me.”
Two strokes in rapid succession dropped her almost flat to the chair. Her knees buckled, she shouted. Back up she went onto her toes. She couldn’t hold still, and no matter how she stamped and writhed, the pain followed her.
“I can’t!” She broke down, suddenly sobbing. Not just crying out, but crying real tears which she tried to bury against the backs of her hands. How ludicrous it was to hate this as much as she did, to fear the sharpness and the intensity, and still not want it to stop.
She needn’t have worried. Reeve didn’t stop but he did pause, waiting patiently until the franticness of her movements eased again and the force of her sobs diminished.
“I’m sorry.” Straightening her legs, she put her bottom back into position. Shifting her grip to the arms of the chair, she locked her fingers, determined not to move again.
“For violating the rules of the Castle,” Reeve said, and on it went.
The next stroke hit so low that it caught the very tops of her thighs and Sandy broke her vow. She shouted, wordless pain expressed at ragged squeaking volume as her knees buckled and her bottom dropped. The hurt broke her down into sobs all over again and her hands shot back. She hadn’t meant to let go of the chair but she couldn’t stop herself. She cupped and held, helpless to soothe away the fiery throb swelling up in each of the welts he’d given her.
That’s when she realized it wasn’t just her own hands she was feeling. Now and then as she rubbed, her fingers bumped up against Reeves’s. He was caressing her bottom too, touching and squeezing, patiently waiting for her to come back to herself.
Blinking through the tears, Sandy wasn’t sure what to do. Should she say something, or just assume the position again? He didn’t seem in a hurry to pick up the cane again. Unless he was holding it in his other hand? No, it was lying on the floor where he’d dropped it behind her.
Her breathing slowed. Hiccups dwindling, she rested with her hot cheek against the seat and her legs shaking so badly that it was a fight not to sink to her knees. He wasn’t telling her the spanking was over. That meant he wasn’t done. She should put her bottom back up, then, and this time try harder to hold the position. She should put her bottom back up, but Reeve never gave her the chance.
The gentle caressing pattern of his hands changed. He nudged her right hand and then her left, commanding without words for her to move them. Sandy did.
“For all the sassy comebacks that caught my attention,” Reeve said. Catching her right buttock, fingers digging in to the new-forming welts, he squeezed.
“Mm!” Sandy breathed, wriggling once, though not enough to escape the pain. Nor was the pain so sharp that it overwhelmed the budding pleasure of his touch. Softly, wounded heat began to burn her, and then to throb.
“For the chase I fought, but could not resist.”
He squeezed her other buttock with the same thoroughness, raking his fingernails across all the welts at once. Sandy squeaked. Her toes curled as she lost herself in an agony that felt more like ecstasy with each scraping pass. The heat of his body moved to cover hers. The abrasion of his jeans scoured her welts as his hips came to rest against hers.
His arms drew her up into the cradle of his chest, pulling her until they were both standing. His breath was right there against her ear as he said, “For being the only woman in this place I have ever wanted so fiercely that I would forget to put on a condom.”
She couldn’t breathe. She was shaking so hard, and yet when he paused, she turned to look up at him. Her knees weakened all over again at the naked desire she saw in him.
His fingers skimmed her breast on their way to her chin. The hardest hands she had ever known, commanding her with the softest of touches.
“For being the only woman I would ever have been willing to start over for.” The pad of his thumb brushed a caress across her bottom lip and her knees wobbled. She clung to his arm, using his strength to keep herself standing when every other part of her became too weak to cope. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. He couldn’t be.
“Sandy.” His lips teased the shell of her ear and the slope of her neck. The ladder of welts across her bottom ached and throbbed, but it was nothing like what her heart felt, beating against the confines of her chest. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t.
She did—a single tear slipped past her lashes as she twisted far enough to see his face.
“My name is Reeve Deforest, and I see you every time I close my eyes too. I think I love you.”
Sandy melted. Twisting in his embrace, she threw her arms around him. “I think I love you too!”
His mouth found hers, at first so soft and gentle, almost tentative in the way he nipped and nibbled at her lips. But his hunger rose quickly, turning those tentative nibbles into kisses that crushed and consumed. His hands found her bottom again, not caressing now, but searching, grabbing hold of as much as he could before digging in.
They were mouth to mouth, hip to hip, breast to chest and nowhere near close enough when it came to skin-to-skin. He kept leaning into her, and she pulled him that much tighter. Her fingers became lost in the softness of the short hairs at the back of his neck.
He leaned harder and she stumbled back a step, her breath catching as she bumped up against Marshall’s desk and the hard edge scraped her welts.
“Ow,” she mewed, but it wasn’t really hurt. It was hurt mixed with heat, mixed with pressure, amplified by the grip of his fingers as Reeve lifted her off her feet and dropped her down to sit on the desk. Her stiffening jolt was rewarded by the full press of his body as he slipped back into contact with as much of her as he could reach.
Reeve broke their kiss only long enough to pull both their shirts off and cast them to the floor. Her head fell back when he caught her breast in his hand, plucking and rolling her nipple between his fingers until it stood eager for the heat of his mouth. Her sigh became a moan and her hands took on a life of their own as she grabbed the front of his pants, wrestling to unbuckle his belt and that row of buttons that kept the barrier of his pants between them. Oh—she groaned—loving the jutting strength of his cock as it jumped into her hands. Hot and hard, steely sinew and muscle wrapped in contouring veins and the satin softness of his skin. She couldn’t get her legs wrapped around him fast enough, and this wasn’t even his office.
Or his desk.
But, oh well. It wasn’t the worst thing likely to ever happen upon it.
For Sandy, though, it was one of the best.
* * *
The End
Maren Smith
For me, romance and kink have always gone hand in hand. I love strong, authoritative men—men who are both ready, willing and able to leave the lady of their choosing red–bottomed and weeping for her own good. Writing has given me the wonderful freedom to explore my kinky side without feeling ‘weird’. Even better, with the invention of the Internet, I can write what I love and know it will be appreciated by people with the same interests.
Although I’ve been writing spanking romances for more than twenty years, it’s only been in the last five that I’ve truly broken out of my self-imposed shell to explore the other aspects of my submissive nature. Fortunate enough to have married my Dominant, I am a wife, author, Little and submissive for the love of my life. Between that and my membership at three of my local Dungeons, there are very, very few things that I write about that I haven’t tried at least once.”
Other Books By Maren Smith
* * *
Masters of the Castle Series
Holding Hannah, Book 1
Kaylee’s Keeper, Book 2
Saving Sara, Book 3
Sweet Sinclair, Book 4
Chasing Chelsea, Book 5
Owning O, Book 6
Maddy Mine, Book 7
Meeting Marshall (A N
ovella)
Seducing Sandy, Book 8
Single Titles
How to Live Without a Man
Something Has to Give
B-Flick
Fairy Godmothers, Inc.
Black Sheep
Daughter of the Strong
The Diva
Enemies
The Great Prank
Jinxie’s Orchids
Katy Run Away
Kindred Spirits
Life After Rachel
The Locket
Mistress
Morogh the Demon
Mountain Man
My Lady Robin Hood
Saga: Constance’s Story
The Suffragettes
Treasure
Varden’s Lady
The Next Ex
The Miner’s Wife
Angel of Hawkhaven
* * *
Red Petticoat Saloon series
Jade’s Dragon
Warming Emerald
* * *
Corbin’s Bend series
(Multiple Authors)
Welcome to Corbin’s Bend
Return to Corbin’s Bend
At Home in Corbin’s Bend
Corbin’s Bend Homecoming
Love in the Rockies
Box Sets and Anthologies
The Dark Forest
The Smith Sisters Christmas Anthology
12 Naughty Days, A Holiday Anthology
Confessions of a Spanking Author
Cowboy Discipline
With Hearts Aflame
Masters of the Castle
When the Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle anthology)
The Naughty List
Spanking Tails Vol. 1
Spanking Tails Vol. 2