by Maren Smith
“One,” Walker corrected, and then he gave it to her.
Rylee only thought she couldn’t breathe before. The sharp smack arched her higher onto her toes as pure sting chewed into the highly sensitive flesh of her mons, biting more fiercely than the clamps ever had. And yet, directly underneath, the thump that rocked her clit was nothing but pleasure.
“Two.” He smacked again. “Three.”
She fell, crashing down onto the balls of her heels. She wanted to shout, but sheer force of will helped bite it back, especially when the fourth smack slapped in with a bit more wrist than the first three, upping the sting, upping the thump and the pleasure that rocked her clit, up into her belly, spasming through the whole of her sex. It chipped away at her will, freeing that first mewling whimper and the breathless begging that followed, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Please, sir, please!”
She’d never called anyone sir before. Sir was something from the fantasies, the midnight dreams that she sometimes explored late at night in the quiet of her bed.
The hunger in him flared to hear it. “Oh, I like that,” he said again, his voice deeper, sexier, huskier. “Five.”
The last was the hardest of all, still nothing more than a wrist-flick of a slap, but which sent a surge of biting, stinging pain rolling through her. The kind of pain that wasn’t really painful at all. The kind she would have loved to wallow in, even as she didn’t want it to get any worse.
“What am I going to do with you?” Walker marveled.
Dropping the spoon on her tray—she was such a bad table; the tray was shaking every bit as much as she was—he reached back under and once more cupped the flesh he had just punished. A punishment in surface deed only; she felt none of the awful connotations true punishments should evoke. When he squeezed, she got wetter. He noticed. She saw it on his face, felt it in the slide of his fingers as he effortlessly shifted his grip and pushed his two center digits directly up inside her, without warning, without preparation. Just one smooth gliding grip of penetrating ownership that hooked up between her nether lips into her pussy as deep as he could reach.
He squeezed. “What,” he breathed again, “am I going to do with you?”
Rylee shivered all over.
“Turn around,” he said thickly. He smashed his palm up into her, rubbing and massaging her clit until the sting eating into her sex became a flush of heat and that low throb that had taken over her clit, pulsing through it like the rawness of a hot, suckling mouth, took over completely. It was all she could feel now and every pulse, tugging and pulling at her, thumped so deep inside that she could feel it all the way into her womb. “I said, turn around.”
It was a wonder her legs held her, but she did. There was so little room between them that her body scraped his even as she obeyed.
“Bend over.”
She leaned down to brace her elbows on the countertop. She shivered at the coolness of the quartz beneath her belly, the hard edge digging into her hips and the smash of the tray as it flattened her breasts. But it was more than that that made her shiver. It was him, backing up against her so that his jeans scraped the backs of her thighs and the curve of her ass. The heady bulge of him pressed into her from behind. He felt hot. He felt rough. He felt hard. She’d never been so aware of the hardness of a man.
Sultry and commanding his fingers massaged up her back, across her neck, and along the curve of her scalp, seizing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head back until she couldn’t arch anymore to accommodate the pressure. Not without straightening up. The fight to hold position made her spine bow and her hips mash back that much harder against the bulge of his cock.
“What am I going to do with you?” When he reached under her hips, the strength of his grip in her hair became secondary to the one with which he again took ownership of her pussy. She moaned when his hips rocked, the bulge of him grinding into her.
“You were made to fuck,” he said, and God, if she didn’t just flood wet all over his squeezing, rubbing fingers. Molten heat flowed from her womb. “Is that what I should do to you next?” The grinding of his hips became a single hard thump of a thrust. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Please… She’d never wanted anything so much; she couldn’t bear this.
The five o’clock shadow of his whiskered chin scraped the back of her neck. “Should I fuck you like a bad little table needs to be fucked? Should I forbid you to come?”
Please…! She gasped, grinding back on him the way he was grinding into her.
“Should I take my pleasure and leave you wanting? Because you haven’t earned it yet. You don’t deserve your Sir’s gentle touch.”
That was when she heard it, the tick of a zipper clicking down its track. Her breath caught at that first prodding nudge of masculine flesh dipping between her thighs, seeking and finding the wetness he had created.
“Say it,” he ordered, the full press of his cock penetrating the folds of her sex, come right to the verge of penetrating her.
Her hips pushed back, a futile effort to make him come inside her. Her thighs quaked, her pussy twitching around an emptiness so profound that it physically hurt. “Please,” she begged.
“Please, what?” he teased, deftly evading all her squirming efforts to get him inside her.
Rylee broken down. “Please,” she sobbed, “fuck me like a bad table!”
He shoved her flat up against the counter with the force of his initial thrust. The sudden fullness was breath-robbing. Another thrust pumped her into the counter, forcing her hips up against the biting edge of it. She didn’t care if she had bruises there tomorrow. It was all she could do not to thrust back, to get him deeper. Permission or not, it was all she could do not to come.
It was a wonder how he kept his hand wedged down in that possessive grip, refusing to give up the proprietary hold he had on her pussy. Surely the edge of the counter had to be hitting his arm just as hard as it was digging into her, especially when his thrust grew more forceful, pounding her up against the cupboards over and over. It was as agonizing as it was titillating—the thumping sound of his hips spanking her ass in a vigorous mockery of the discipline she craved.
Her pussy spasmed, locking down on his shaft, shivering her with the rippling force of her building orgasm.
“Please,” she gasped, unable to bite it back. “Please!”
Instead of spurring him on, her pleading stopped everything. He let go. Her pussy first, and then her hair. And then he stepped back, the hard length of his cock abandoning her completely, shattering her orgasm there where it hovered on the edge of coming. The pleasure turned instantly into knives, raking through every shuddering inch of her and leaving her in such a state of wanting that she could have cried.
Confused, she tried to rise, but his hand on the back of her neck was just as commanding as the grip he’d held between her legs. He pushed her down over the counter, not quite flat upon it. The tray wouldn’t allow that, but as flat as she could go. It forced her up onto her tiptoes, her feet damn near leaving the floor.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, fastening his still high-standing cock back into the prison of his jeans again.
“No,” she cried. What had she done? She didn’t know, but all she felt was bereft now that he was no longer inside her.
“Face down,” he said when she tried to look back. She locked her eyes on the quartz countertop, staring down at a point just beneath her nose without really seeing anything in the stony pattern. Her pussy kept twitching, clutching to pull him back within her. He opened the fridge door instead, rustling through a shelf before closing it again. He opened a cupboard next, picking through silverware. She sniffled, the whole of her body throbbing with the pain of unrealized pleasure.
The strong scent of something fresh, sour, and acidic stung her nose. It smelled familiar, but she couldn’t place the spice, though it filled the kitchen, almost overpowering the scent of the garlic, ground beef, and tomato sauce. Walker was doing something by the sink, but she
dared not lift her head to look. She didn’t think she had it in her to disobey him, not now when everything she wanted was to be good so that he would continue what he had just stopped.
The flesh of her neck prickled with the pleasure of his touch when he returned and gripped her there once more.
“Do you want my cock inside you?” he demanded.
Humiliation burned through every inch of her. Were her hands free, she’d have covered her face. “Yes. God, yes.”
“Then earn it.”
She felt the cool plop of water dripping into the crevice of her buttocks, the only warning she had for what he intended.
“I have wanted to do this ever since we had that conversation,” he confided, as his hand took firm hold in the back of her hair again. He pulled, forcing her neck back even as he shoved the weight of himself against her, pushing her that much further over the counter. Pinning her in place. Sending every overstimulated nerve inside her singing at the roughness of him. “You have no idea how close I came to coming to your house that night and doing this in person.”
Something cool and harder than the touch of his fingers followed in the path of that dripping water, moving down through the crack of her ass and, quite unexpectedly, lodging there.
“I have dreamed of watching you, lying on your belly in your bed.” Walker’s tone softened to a croon. “Your hands between your thighs.”
He found the cringing rim of her anus, and her body locked down in an instinctive, self-preserving flinch that was as useless as it was involuntary.
“With your fingers rubbing away, pumping this gorgeous little ass into the sheets as you came.” He pushed. “Because I commanded it and you wanted it.” He pushed deeper, and the cool, rounded tip of whatever he’d taken from the fridge slipped inside her. The cold sting as he pushed it steadily deeper, became a deep-seated burn almost instantly.
“Wait,” she gasped, but he didn’t wait. He pushed, opening her relentlessly until the bulbous, burning base of it was sucked up into her. She panted, either the size of it or her lack of experience making it almost more than she could take. And what a cruel trick that was, because that wasn’t her decision to make. She would take whatever he gave her and she knew it. Whatever he had inserted inside her was only half in, with a portion still protruding and the tightness of her anus hugging the indentation at the base. And the longer it stayed there, the more the stinging-burning intensified.
“This is ginger root,” he said.
She panted, but not just from discomfort.
“If you push this out,” he warned, “if you disobey me and lose your focus, I will tie you down and the only fucking you will receive from me will be with this root.”
Her whole body shuddered with the deliciousness of that threat. What did that say about her, really? This wasn’t supposed to be intoxicating or erotic. This was supposed to be awful.
Wasn’t it?
Rylee melted.
Chapter Five
Walker got the hamburger into the sauce and let it simmer on a back burner. He started a pot with water and dropped the noodles just as soon as it was boiling, which gave him about eight minutes. Eight minutes in which he left Rylee standing with her nose in a corner of the kitchen, her legs spread apart, the spoons and ceramic spoon holder once more balanced upon her tray, just to give her something to do. Something to focus on other than that piece of ginger root embedded half in and half out of her ass.
And then he walked down the main hall and stepped into the bathroom to wash his hands. Twice, just to give himself time to breathe. When that didn’t work, he stepped up to the shower, opened the glass doors, unzipped his pants and got a handle on the raw, raging need that hadn’t stopped surging inside him from the moment he’d pulled his cock out of her hot, twitching pussy. She’d felt so good. The way she had looked at him, all wide-eyed and startled, and submissive as hell, especially after he’d yanked out of her—he hadn’t wanted to fuck a woman this fiercely in years. The rawness of his long-denied need had been as unexpected as the wetness he’d found when he reached between her legs.
Gripping the top of the shower threshold for balance, Walker did for himself what he had started with her, setting a hard, fast rhythm and spending a hell of a lot sooner than he would have had Rylee once more been beneath him. He didn’t want to leave her too long, but he had to get a grip on this before he did something he seriously regretted. Although sexual things had been negotiated (and consented to) within the parameters of their play tonight, the penetration of his penis in any part of her wasn’t one he’d intended on actually going through with. In the year he’d been playing at the CCC, he hadn’t fucked any of the submissives he’d played with. Finger-fucked, sure. Dildo-fucked, upon occasion. Extended use of the vibrating wand, all the time. But to actually put his cock in one of them, never.
Tammi Lou had tried to ‘thank’ him with a blowjob once. He’d never been so turned off in his life. Admittedly, that had more to do with Tammi Lou than the act itself. He just wasn’t into casual sex; he sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for it and when it came to Tammi Lou, sex was always payment for something. When it came to Rylee, however…
“Fuck,” he breathed, his balls tightening the instant his thoughts turned back to the submissive in the kitchen. His grip on his cock tightened too, but it wasn’t enough to strangle back the crashing force of his own pleasure. He shot into the emptiness of the shower, growling low under his breath until the ferocity of the spasms dwindled.
Rylee was different. She was the only woman at the CCC who didn’t hound him for scenes, or treat him as if he were Uber Dom, superhero of the kink world, or view him as an extension to her own wallet. She was the only one who had ever made an effort to talk to him about something other than kink. And although, yes, it had been done in a clumsy effort to distract him from something else, in his book that still ought to count.
Unfortunately, if he didn’t get a grip on this hunger, they would both be bow-legged before the evening was over. He didn’t know if that was a bad thing or not, but the last thing he wanted was a head full of regret once he removed himself from her company and the passion of the moment had gone.
Taking a moment to rinse out the shower and wash the evidence of his insanity down the drain, Walker rewashed his hands. Returning to the kitchen, he stirred the sauce and checked the noodles, which were almost perfect now, and so he shut off the stove.
He checked on Rylee too. Dipping his fingers into her wetness, he felt the spasms, the thumping pulsing of her pussy and the rawness of her need. It had continued all this time unabated, and damn, if that didn’t give him a thrill. Despite his earlier threat, he gripped the base of the ginger plug and gave her what he knew she wanted. What he wanted too. He drove her up onto her tiptoes and fucked her with the root. It wasn’t his cock, but three quick pumps were enough to make the burning kick up another notch so he could hear her seductive mewling whimpers. She tried so hard to bite them back, even as she thrust her hips back and squirmed the way submissives liked to do when the hurt was just sharp enough, yet not so sharp that they didn’t want more.
“Do you like this?” he asked low against her ear. The tickling of her fine wispy hairs brushed his cheek and chin. From this angle, he couldn’t quite see her face, but he could see the curve of her cheek and he knew it when she blushed just before she nodded. “Use your words. I want to hear you say it.”
That blush turned brighter still. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered. “I like it.”
He loved how she stammered as she said it. “Are you raw yet?”
She shook her head.
“Say it,” he reminded, giving the anal plug a twist and then another deep pump, pushing it in almost to the point of embedding the base.
“No… no…” Her groan went from deep to high-pitched. Her legs and thighs trembled wildly, but it was the trembling of a woman on the verge of orgasm, and Walker
knew it. He’d felt it often in the submissives he took downstairs into the dungeon. But this was the first time he’d felt it from this particular woman, and just like that he was hard again. It was amazing how powerful it made him, knowing that the things he loved doing were making her shake like this.
The urge to bite the back of her neck was every bit as strong as the urge to wrap his arm around her waist, holding her body tightly to him while he gave her the ginger-fucking of her life. Hard, fast, brutal thrusts that would leave her back entrance burning and stinging for hours, causing no real damage, although she would probably swear otherwise while she was made to take it.
That’s right, take it. He forced himself to stop and unlock his arm from around her waist. Much as he would have loved to continue fucking her, to hold her dancing, squealing, and writhing in his embrace, he made himself let go of the ginger plug too. He didn’t even bite the back of her neck. Instead, he kissed it, that seductive slope between her shoulder and her neck. A bite right there would have marked her as his for all the world to admire, for at least two or three days anyway. Not that he had the right to leave marks. He withdrew, the taste of her still on his lips.
“Be a good girl,” he told her, savoring it. “Don’t move from this spot.”
The confines of his jeans was his punishment to endure as Walker left the kitchen again. For a dom to leave a submissive in restraints was generally frowned upon, but only her wrists were bound. Rylee still had full range of motion should she need it and nothing that might cause either blood-flow restriction or a breathing problem. And he didn’t plan to be gone more than a minute. So, downstairs he went, this time to retrieve the throne.
The throne was a solid wooden chair with buckled restraints on the arms and legs. Instead of a cushion, there was a hole in the seat where a false bottom could be inserted, for those who wanted to make their submissive sit on a dildo. Or, with the bottom removed, as it was now, a slight notch toward the front of that circular hole had been carved just deep enough to hang either a Hitachi or, if one was completely sadistic, a violet wand. The dungeon was equipped with both. For Rylee’s first time on the throne, Walker had no interest in making her ride electrified waves. Selecting the Hitachi instead, he carried both it and the chair upstairs to the dining room. Running an extension cord to the nearest outlet, he arranged everything just so, opening up the buckles and folding back the straps, and placing the Hitachi on the floor beneath the chair so Rylee wouldn’t see it. At least not straight away.