by L. DuBois
“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, a good Dom will give you what you need.”
Before she had time to point out that those weren’t the lyrics, Cain had switched his hold from her legs to her wrist and yanked her up.
Then she was over his shoulder, living up to the barbarian warlord potential of all those muscles, and Victoria stopped worrying about being ashamed, and started worrying about exactly what it was Cain thought she needed.
Chapter 7
Victoria jiggled her arms, rattling the long chain that connected the wrist cuffs against the metal legs of the horse.
The particular horse was closer to a piece of gymnastics equipment than a sawhorse. A large leather-covered and padded top piece supported by two metal legs coming straight out of the underside. It was seven or eight inches across the gently curved top. Narrow enough that a sub could lay face down on it and, depending on the size of her breasts, have them pushed out towards her armpits rather than lay on them.
Victoria, however, was on her back on the horse. In this position it felt very, very narrow. Not that she had to worry about falling off.
Her legs were lifted straight up, making a right angle to her torso, toes pointed towards the ceiling. Instead of cuffs around each ankle, Cain had used a long leather strap to bind her ankles together, and then slid a thin nylon rope between her calves and tied it to an anchor hiding in a dark section of the ceiling. The rope was taut enough that if she relaxed her leg muscles, her limbs only shifted a few inches.
In comparison, her arms were relatively free. The chain between the cuffs was long enough that she could lace them together on her stomach, letting her elbows hang.
One thing she did get to do tonight that she hadn’t gotten to yesterday, was to appreciate the ceiling.
All the rooms of the Constellation Court were named for constellations, both well known—Aquarius, Orion—and lesser known, such as Cassiopeia.
This room was Aquarius. She didn’t claim to know her constellations all that well, but she would bet that of the dozens of small fiber optic lights embedded in the navy night sky ceiling, the dozen or so that were slightly brighter must represent the constellation. If connected they made a sort of “E” or “M” shape, depending on how she tilted her head.
Cain ran his finger down from her ankle to knee, then leaned against her legs. Victoria squeaked in alarm and grabbed for the horse, scared she’d slip off the side and end up dangling by her legs with her arms in some awkward tangle.
Cain raked her calf with his teeth, and she shivered. “Want me to tie you down? For your own good of course. So you won’t slip.”
“Stop leaning on me and we won’t have a problem.”
“We don’t have a problem.”
“If I fall off this and dislocate something, it will, I assure you, be your problem.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll grab you.” Cain reached out with the hand not wrapped casually around her legs and hooked two fingers over the top of the corset, tugging it down.
She referred to the leather garment as a corset, but it wasn’t really. It was more of a corset-style top. Yes, it was stiff, but the light boning was flexible plastic, the molded and formed lace doing more to make it hold the shape than the boning did.
There was lacing down the front—flat leather laces rather than ribbon or cording—and it could be unlaced, but there was also a set of hook and eye closures down the left side, and that’s what she used to put it on.
Her breasts were already fighting to get free—more accurately they were sliding to the side and up, thanks to her position on her back.
One tug and the top edge of the corset was pulled low enough that her nipples, hard thanks to anticipation, to his hands on her skin, were clearly visible as peaks under the blue satin.
Cain noisily smooched her ankle, then swiped his tongue across the flesh he’d just kissed. Something sweet followed by something risqué.
He leaned against her legs once again, and she felt her body shift a little in response, so she tensed her arm muscles, holding on tight to the horse under her. That meant her hands weren’t free to stop him, not that she could or would have, when he reached out once more.
This time he grabbed her nipple.
Yesterday he hadn’t touched her breasts—she’d never even taken off the leather bralette. When his hard fingers closed on her nipple she let out a little sigh of pleasure.
And when his fingers squeezed her tender flesh hard, and harder still, she gritted her teeth and stayed silent, though she didn’t know why. Stubborn and stupid, she didn’t make a sound as he brutally compressed her nipple.
When he finally did release her, she was panting in pain.
“See, if you start to fall I’ll grab you.”
“By the nipple?” She raised her head enough that she could look at him, but then dropped back down.
“Or I could slide my fingers into your pussy and use that to grab you.”
“Very effective,” she said dryly, but her pussy pulsed at his words. She hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to have his fingers inside her, filling her, fucking her. If his fingers had felt like that, she couldn’t imagine what his cock would feel like.
Except she wouldn’t get to feel his cock in her. Their contract didn’t allow it.
She was still thinking about penetrative sex when Cain stepped back, disappearing into the darkness for a few moments.
He returned holding a stiff, flat piece of leather.
Victoria took a breath, and her stomach knotted with fear. A paddle could hurt, but it wasn’t actually dangerous, in that it couldn’t accidentally break skin the way some floggers, and, of course, the single-tail whip, could.
This thing, whatever it was, looked like it was in the same category as a single tail whip—able to do some serious damage if the person wielding it wanted it that way.
Victoria’s gaze met Cain’s. “I’m still sore from the paddle.”
He took one long step sideways and glanced at her ass. She wondered if he could see her vulva, peeking out from between her raised legs.
“Doesn’t look too bad.” Cain shrugged and smiled, but his eyes were serious, focused. On her.
“Cain…if you’re teasing me…”
“Of course I’m teasing you. Your pretty ass deserves a break, which is why we’re not going to have a long session with the tawse.”
“Tawse?”
“Scottish discipline tool. They called it a belt or strap when it was used to actually discipline children, but the proper name is tawse.” He raised it, pulling on the tip to show that the body of the leather strip had been split lengthwise to create two pieces. The handle was no more than one end of it, cut with hourglass curves to make it easier to hold. “But, most importantly, it’s leather. Hard leather, unlike a flogger, so to be thorough in our exploration of ‘L’, I knew we needed it.”
It was stiff, barely bending in response to gravity as he twisted his wrist, showing it off.
“Cain…I’m not a pain slut.”
“Pain slut? Who said anything about pain slut?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You mean you’re scared. Say it.”
She had no problem admitting she was afraid of that thing. “I’m scared.”
He leaned over her, and gently took the nipple he’d pinched in his mouth. His saliva soaked the fabric, molding it to the top of her breast. Her nipples were already hard, but under his tongue her areola crinkled up, her entire breast aching with need.
When he lifted his head, he tugged her nipple with his lips, the touch far more gentle than his fingers had been.
Then he slid her skirt up her abdomen, until it was bunched around the bottom of her corset top, which came down just a little lower than her natural waist, but not all the way to her hips. That left the lower part of her belly exposed. Vulnerable. The bare mound of her vulva was also visible, though with her thighs together, from the top her sex was
relatively well protected.
Cain ran the tawse over the newly exposed skin of her belly and she whimpered, a sound she was sure she’d never made before.
“Don’t worry, sugar. I can’t use this on you here.” But he kept petting her with the tawse. “A gentle flogger, a crop…you can use those, gently, anywhere.”
She couldn’t seem to take a deep breath. Maybe it was the corset, but she didn’t think so. Something about this position, that implement, and the way Cain was looking at her made her breathing unsteady.
It felt…weirdly good, this panicky anticipation.
He wrapped his free arm around her thighs, and she watched as he dragged his tongue from the leather straps around her ankles to her knee, pinching her skin with his very-white front teeth before releasing her.
“So you’re going to see exactly how much you can abuse my ass before I what…use my safe word?”
“Already thinking of tapping out?” Cain lifted the tawse and swished it through the air. It made an almost whistle-like noise, as the air passed through the thin space created by the split in the leather.
“Using a safe word isn’t tapping out,” she snapped back. “It’s irresponsible—”
“Planning to use a safe word because you’re being a chickenshit is cowardice.” Cain quirked a brow at her, and that little smirking smile she was used to seeing on his face was gone. He was serious now, more serious than he’d been at any point last night.
“I’m not, but I know that my ass can’t take—”
“I never said I was going to use it on your ass.”
“You—”
“I implied.” He massaged her hamstrings.
Her legs jerked as she tightened those muscles. Not her ass. Her legs. He was planning to whip…beat?…her legs.
Cain tsked. “You know tightening your muscles can make it hurt more.”
“Just do it,” she snapped, the words strong, but more breathless than she wanted them to be. She couldn’t help it; her breathing was still a bit too fast and shallow.
He tsked again. “Sugar, don’t you try topping me from the bottom. I’m not here to service you by tying the ropes and lifting you up. Great symbolism by the way. Submissive, but above other submissives.”
She groaned. “I know, I’m terrible.”
“You’re not. Of the two of us, clearly I’m the one who is terrible.”
He laid the tawse over her bare lower abdomen once more, and then tapped two fingers on her forehead. She pretended to bite at his hand, but then sobered and said, “No, Cain, you’re honest with what you need and want. Clearly I’m not.”
“Maybe you weren’t honest, before.” He trailed his fingers down her face. This time she didn’t react playfully. The air around them had heated, grown heavy and thick. “But you’re going to be.”
“Cain…”
His hand slid to her throat, holding but not squeezing, his thumb running up and down the side of her neck under her ear.
“I won’t accept anything but honesty.” It sounded like a threat. His hand shifted, fingers stroking her chin, cheek.
“Don’t tell me…” Her emotions were hitting a boiling point, the mix—arousal, fear, lingering shame over her admission—a caustic combination.
It was that witch’s brew of feelings that caused her words to trail off, and, when his thumb passed over her lips, she lifted her head, and bit it.
Hard.
Cain snarled and instinctively tried to jerk his hand back, but she bit down harder. This wasn’t playful. She was hurting him.
She was fully aware how ridiculous this was—biting someone instead of talking to them was a tactic used by children. She was a fully grown adult, and she absolutely knew better than to bite someone. And yet it felt right for all that it was juvenile. She wanted to test his flesh with her teeth.
Cain’s lips pulled back, but it wasn’t a grimace or snarl of rage or pain.
It was, horrifyingly, a wide, happy smile.
She realized why he was grinning a moment later when instead of trying to pull his thumb out of her mouth he pressed it in deeper. The tip found the spot just behind her back teeth where her jaws joined and he pressed on it, forcing her mouth open.
She turned her head, trying to slide out from under his thumb—quite literally—but he was ruthless, countering every move she made.
He dug his thumb into the corner of her mouth, keeping it open, and then brought his other hand into play, reaching between her teeth and pinching her tongue. She drew her tongue back, sliding it out of his grip while thrashing on the horse, his body pressed against hers ensuring she didn’t fall.
He grabbed for her tongue again, but couldn’t catch it.
His eyes were cold, hard blue. He was so big above her. It was utterly foolish to fight…but she did.
When he couldn’t capture her tongue, he instead slid three fingers of his other hand into her mouth, along with his thumb. Filling her, opening her, forcing her tongue to the back of her mouth so she gagged.
“Don’t fuck with me, pretty girl.”
Victoria looked up, met his gaze, and she knew there were tears in the corners of her eyes because he’d triggered her gag reflex.
Look down, like you’re feeling submissive, and he’ll stop.
If this was a game, that was the next logical move, the clearest way to get the result she desired, which was to no longer have his fingers in her mouth.
Victoria narrowed her eyes and tried to bite him again, but his thumb, wedged behind her back teeth, made it impossible.
Cain leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I have a gag in my locker made from a mold of my dick. The first four inches of it. If you need help behaving, I’ll go get it.”
Victoria thrashed, and would have tipped sideways if Cain hadn’t braced his hip more firmly against her side.
“You’ll have my dick so deep in your mouth you’ll be just on the edge of gagging every time you take a breath, and your mouth will be full, just like it is now.” His lips feathered her ear, a soft touch compared to the brutality of his fingers in her mouth.
“I could do that but…”
She felt him smile.
“…I want to hear you scream.”
Cain withdrew first his fingers and then thumb from her mouth. She worked her jaw, swallowed the spit that had gathered at the back of her mouth, and then licked her lips.
She was formulating the perfect reply, something cutting and smart, but not so cruel or divisive that it would cause him to stop the scene.
Because, scared as she was, pissed as she was, she didn’t want him to stop.
Cain lifted the tawse, swishing it through the air. She expected him to play with it, swing it around to amp up the anticipation, scare her a bit. She expected him to ask her why she’d bitten him, for them to talk through what had just happened.
Cain, however, was apparently done playing. Done talking.
The tawse whistled as it cut through the air, and then landed with a snap on the back of her right thigh.
Hot, sharp pain, a world away from the broader heat of a paddle, danced on her skin. Victoria gritted her teeth, her toes curled, and her fingers dug into the underside of the horse. She could feel the softly rounded heads of the upholstery tacks under her fingers, and concentrated on that, trying to distract herself from the pain of the tawse’s strike.
Cain regarded her with a cool, calm gaze. A merciless warlord, a remorseless warrior.
He raised the tawse again.
Snap. The pain was sharp and so focused that for a moment all she could think about, all she could feel, was the back of her left thigh where he’d laid down a line of fire.
The third blow was back on the right, lower than the first one, perilously close to her sit spot, which was still tender from the paddling.
This was brutal, so much more than a spanking. A spanking was about more than just the pain, it was about the psychology of being spanked. A spanking was used to disciplin
e children and 1950’s housewives. It was, if not mainstream, at least well known in popular culture. Paddling wasn’t far behind, paddles themselves not being all that taboo at least for anyone that had been to a college with fraternities. Teenage boys with paddle handles sticking out of their backpacks were an all too common sight during rush.
But this…this was irrefutably dark and dangerous. Something no one outside the lifestyle would know about or have. No casual person would ever dare do this to a lover.
And Cain wasn’t even her lover.
What did it say about her that she’d put herself in a position to be used like this, that she wasn’t stopping it, when she had the power to do so?
And she did have that power. That was an iron core of understanding inside her. It took what would, objectively, be terrible, and terrifying, and made it consensual and masochistic.
Snap.
The tawse struck again, and she couldn’t stop the cry of pain. Her fingers pressed so hard against the upholstery tacks that her nail beds started to throb, that pain minimal in comparison to the eight distinct lines of throbbing fiery pain across the back of her thighs.
“You’re crying, Vic.” He sounded so soft, so gentle.
“Is that what you wanted?” Her voice broke on a sob, but she pretended it hadn’t. “Spank me until I cry?”
“This wasn’t just a spanking; don’t pretend it was.” His words echoed her earlier thoughts and she turned her head to the side, half closing her eyes.
The tawse whistled through the air, and she whimpered, arms coming up, reaching out as if she could protect the back of her thighs. The chain wasn’t long enough for that and clanked against the metal of the horse.
The tawse didn’t connect and she let her hands fall, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides.
“What I want is to strip you down,” Cain murmured.
“I’m half naked and in pain.” She took a shuddering breath and turned her face to the ceiling. “Mission accomplished.”
“You’re half naked, helpless, with a paddled ass, your thighs trembling from the beating I just gave them.” He slid his fingers down the seam of her legs until they brushed over her labia. “And your pussy and ass are right here, mine to play with if I want to.”