by Cara Bristol
“Do you know who it was?”
He shook his head. “No, it was kept confidential.”
“And Rod and Cane needs a special room?”
“Not just for that. On occasion a husband might bring his wife to formalize the punishment. In the early days of the Society, that was a common occurrence. It’s rare now.” He grinned. “No doubt Mrs. Davenport could give you the lowdown, if you asked.”
“I’ll pass.” She peered up at him. “Can I see the chamber?”
Chapter Eleven
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Stephanie said.
“You were expecting a dungeon? Racks and iron maidens? Cat-o’-nine tails?” Mark fought a grin.
“Of course not,” she denied, shifting her wide-eyed gaze between the implements readied on the wall and the spanking benches. “I guess you crouch on this one.” She pointed to a low apparatus. The woman would straddle a padded form with her shins resting on a ledge below. The construction of the bench would require she spread her legs. She could be restrained or not.
He could envision Stephanie on it, completely exposed to him. Heat coiled in his stomach. As she surveyed the room, her back was to him, and he quickly adjusted himself. A woman who walked two paces behind, who didn’t speak until spoken to, who deferred without questioning would bore him. He valued independence, a woman who would speak her mind, stand up for herself, challenge him—and then submit to his authority.
Stephanie nibbled on her plump lower lip. “I assume the other one isn’t used for gymnastics vaulting,” she joked.
“It does resemble a pommel horse,” he agreed. “But it too is a spanking bench. It was designed by a Rod and Cane member.” To use it, a woman would stand and lean over the padded “seat.”
“What are the rings at the bottom of the legs for?”
“Restraint.”
Stephanie clutched her throat. “You tie her down? How consensual is that?”
“No one is dragged in kicking and screaming. Any woman who comes here walks in on her own two feet. The restraints protect her by ensuring she doesn’t jump around and accidentally get paddled in a vulnerable area.”
“Have you ever used a spanking bench?” she asked.
“Not until today.”
“Here?” She gasped.
“Yes.” His snap decision settled with rightness in his gut. The dominance in him demanded to see Stephanie kneel on the bench, and the flicker in her gaze, a softness to her lips betrayed that her submissive side craved it too.
“Somebody will hear,” she whispered, her eyes round.
He bolted the door and verified that the mic was turned off. “The room is soundproof.”
“But—” She clutched her throat tighter and glanced from him to the benches.
“We’ll use the short one. Pick out a paddle.” He held up their auction one. “Or I could use this.”
“Thanks for the choice,” she said sarcastically but crept to the wall of implements.
She studied them for so long, he was beginning to think she was stalling, but then she selected a smallish wooden one with circular cutouts.
“The choice is yours, but you should know that even though it’s little, that one will probably hurt the most. The holes decrease wind resistance.”
Hastily she replaced it and then reached for a slim leather one about the size of a paint stirrer.
“Nice,” he said. “I could spank your pussy with that.”
“All right, then!” She grabbed a basic wooden paddle.
He had her remove her panties. Dampened and scented by arousal, the thong confirmed his suspicions that submission turned her on. Intellectually, philosophically she might protest and deny, but emotionally it fulfilled her as it did him. Her body had recognized the truth long before her mind had. He sensed they had come to a crossroad in their relationship this evening. One road headed toward a domestic discipline relationship that would benefit them both. The other dead-ended. He was who he was, and Stephanie was his other half. The yin to his yang. Really, only one option existed.
They’d set off on the former path when she’d acquiesced to the plug, but he needed to lead the way and keep them moving forward. The responsibility settled on him with a perfect fit. He was meant to be with Stephanie, to care for her, to protect her, and to spank her. She was his partner, his lover, his shadow side. He slipped her underwear into his pocket. He wasn’t going to give them back. Another nudge down the road.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” she muttered as he assisted her in settling on the bench. He adjusted her dress so she wasn’t kneeling on it, then flipped it over her waist.
Her folds were engorged and slickened, her clit so swollen it poked out of its hood. The silvery base of the plug simultaneously hid and called attention to her back entrance. Her position was over-the-top erotic; he wanted to sink his fingers into her slit, but if he did, he’d succumb to his baser urges. Rod and Cane was not a sex club, but a society that promoted discipline. He needed to maintain self-control.
He stuck the paddle under his arm. Standing to her side, he kneaded her ass cheeks firmly, stopping short of causing pain. She moaned and raised her ass. His cock swelled.
“I reiterate you are being spanked for the rudeness and disrespect you showed by disregarding the time,” he said, as much for his benefit as hers. The paddling was intended for discipline, not foreplay.
“I understand.”
He squeezed hard, then smacked her cheek. She jerked and yelped. He slapped until her ass held its color, then switched to the paddle.
She must have anticipated and steeled herself against the blows, because she neither cried out nor flinched. But after three smacks on the same spot, she listed to avoid the paddle. He struck the other moon three times as well before focusing on stinging the crease where thigh met cheek. When she sat during dinner, the spanking would remain fresh in her mind.
She balled her hands.
Before long her ass colored cherry red, and he paused to rub her skin. She winced. “Is that it?” He could hear a catch in her voice.
“Not yet, kitten.”
The paddle whooshed through the air as he brought it down.
She cried out that time. Mark was confident Stephanie wouldn’t keep him waiting again. She might commit other acts warranting a spanking, but she would manage her time.
He rested the paddle against one glowing cheek.
Though he disliked causing her pain, his desire spiraled off the charts. His erection felt enormous in his pants. They would both be uncomfortable during dinner.
He struck each side smartly one last time, then rehung the paddle on the wall.
She wobbled when he helped her stand. Her mouth was bare of lipstick, her eyes overbright.
He hugged her and rested his face against her head. Her heart fluttered like a bird’s wings, and tiny tremors quivered through her body. “I’m proud of you,” he said.
She cuddled against him. “You spanked me hard.”
“Yes.” He hadn’t gone easy on her because they were at a social function. “Anytime I discipline you, it will be hard.”
He snaked under her skirt and rubbed her ass.
She moaned. “That feels good, but it hurts too.”
Silence filled the chamber as he massaged, but he sensed she had something else to say. He waited.
“I don’t like the spanking, but I love this part.” She melded her body to his. A postage stamp would not have fit between them. “I like it when you hold me and touch me.”
“I’ll always hold you, Stephanie, not just after spanking you.”
Chapter Twelve
Silently Stephanie urged him to hurry, but leave it to the deputy police chief to obey the speed limit. Didn’t he know she was on fire and this was an emergency? No, he continued to plod along while her body seethed. Her ass hurt inside and out. Her buttocks burned as if she’d fallen asleep in the sun wearing only a thong, the skin sensitized to the most delicate
touch, and sitting wasn’t that. After wearing the plug for hours, it had become irritating, the sensation exacerbated by the continual clenching and unclenching of her muscles. She couldn’t seem to stop. But the desire? That was the worst. She ached for him, needed to be fucked more than she ever had in her life. Until Mark, she’d never had more than one orgasm at a time, but he made her greedy. One wouldn’t satisfy her tonight.
Biology trumped feminist manifesto. Funny thing, want. She shouldn’t have wanted a man who claimed an entitlement to spank her because she was female and he was male. She shouldn’t have wanted to be spanked.
But she did. Not the paddle connecting with her bottom, but everything else. The lead-in, the fluttery anticipation-dread, and most of all, the naughtiness of getting into position and baring her bottom and her pussy for use as he saw fit. In biological parlance, she was sexually presenting, and it caused her insides to become gooey, her stomach to tumble, her knees to tremble, her pussy to moisten. Dominant always, when he readied to discipline her, he exuded power, his voice deepening, his chiseled features becoming fiercer, muscles harder. It would be frightening if it wasn’t so sexy. And then afterward, he cuddled her, soothed her, doted on her.
She felt protected. Cared for before, during, and after, as if she was the center of his world. He was in charge, but his charge was her. She could relax and let go. And love him.
The instant she’d laid eyes on the spanking bench, she’d craved to be on that pedestal. She had wanted Mark to spank her in the stark room.
Her arousal had receded under the paddle’s painful blows but returned in full force when he’d held her and rubbed her ass. With Mark’s elbow linked through hers, his arm nudging her breast, they’d strolled to the auction while a silent parade of sensation marched below her waist. Her ass throbbed, her back entrance squeezed the plug spasmodically, and her naked, swollen pussy ached and pulsed.
His refusal to return her underwear revealed her submission turned him on too. Well, that and the boner he sported.
The Davenports were seated at the table when they arrived. Fortunately Mrs. Davenport had said nothing, but Stephanie knew the hawkeyed biddy had noticed how gingerly she lowered herself into the chair and suspected the reason.
She put on a good act, eating, drinking, laughing as if her entire body wasn’t vibrating like a laser-light show. She and Elizabeth talked a little shop, discussed the delayed communication class, and then her friend mentioned plans for a women’s program at Rod and Cane. “The staff will be volunteer, but the directorship will be a paid position,” she’d said.
A woman-focused program at a society of men who spanked? Seriously? The incongruity had her mentally shaking her head, even as she admitted that as a spanked feminist she had become an oxymoron. “Sounds intriguing,” she’d responded noncommittally.
“Would you be interested?”
“I’m flattered to be asked, but you know I’m devoted to WAN,” Stephanie had said. Despite the control she’d had to surrender in order to grow the organization, it was still her baby, and more remained to be accomplished.
That part of the dinner conversation had stuck with her. The rest? A blur. The spanking had produced an afterglow as if they had fucked but left her libido raging, a distraction that worsened with every brush of Mark’s shoulder, each bump of his knee. They had won the two items they’d bid on, and after Mark had paid for them, he’d asked if she was ready to go home.
Ready? If they had hung around any longer, she would have humped his leg like a horny dog.
Why was he driving so damn slow? The leather squeaked as she shifted in her seat. Her ass protested the movement, but the very ache fueled her lust. She studied Mark in the glow of the dash. His large hands dwarfed the steering wheel to the size of a child’s toy. He’d used his jacket as protective wrapping for her vase and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, baring strong forearms covered by a liberal dash of hair.
Hard angles and lines defined his profile, his brow heavy, his jaw firmly set, his nose a work of masculine craftsmanship. She squinted. Huh. She’d never noticed the slight little bump.
“How did you break your nose?” she asked.
He glanced at her. His teeth flashed white, and he touched the bump. “Scuffle with my brother. He got a black eye. We both got grounded. We’d argued that since we’d injured each other, we’d suffered enough, but Mom and Dad didn’t agree. Commit the crime; do the time.”
He retrained his attention on the road, and she returned hers to her study of him. She brazenly stared at his lap. Was he still hard? The instrument panel didn’t offer enough light to tell, but his erection had nudged her hip when he’d helped her into the car.
She reached over and palmed his zipper. A ten on the Mohs scale—diamond hard.
He didn’t utter a single word but growled, and a sharp, sexual pang arced through her.
She pressed firmly so he could feel the sensation through the layers of clothing as she traced his length.
“Stephanie…” Her name was a rumbled warning on his lips.
She unbuckled her seat belt.
“No.” He grabbed her hand, but instead of thrusting it away, held it against himself.
She grinned, remembering his explanation that “no” didn’t always mean no. She brought her lips to his ear. “Are you crying ‘ostrich’?” she whispered. She tugged on his belt. “I want to suck you.”
“Do you have any idea how many traffic rules you’re breaking?”
Pants unzipped, shorts pulled back, his erection sprang free. She wrapped her fingers around it. “Why don’t you tell me all about the penal code.” She allowed her breath to caress his ear while she smoothed her hand up and down. She wedged herself between his body and the steering wheel, and flicked her tongue over the satiny head, lapping at the pearling fluid.
“Stephanie,” he hissed but kept the car on the straight and narrow. As precisely as if he were taking a driving exam, he signaled a lane change, executed a crisp right turn, and traveled half a block. “I’m going to wrap the car around a telephone pole.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer I wrap my mouth around your pole?” she said and followed through on her suggestion. She sucked hard, and he swore in a way that would have earned her a spanking.
The car hit a bump, and she popped up. They were in a parking lot. She read the sign atop the building and giggled. “Cops do gravitate toward doughnut shops, don’t they?”
He headed for a dark corner, parked, then cut the engine and the lights. He reclined his seat. “Your show.” With that, he reassumed command.
No, he’d never lost it. She used to believe she had a firm handle on matters until she met him. How did he do it? And why did his authority entice her to let go of the self-possession she did have and dance on the wild side? Spankings, butt plugs, sex in parking lots… Oh Gloria.
If anyone had told her she’d one day blow the deputy chief of police behind a doughnut shop at two a.m., she’d have asked them what they were smoking. How raunchy. How perfect.
Her inner thighs were wet with moisture, her core aching to be filled. If she hadn’t been wearing the butt plug, she’d have thrown her leg over him and ridden him like a scooter. But double penetration would exceed her body’s capabilities.
But she could do this.
In a swoop she engulfed his erection again.
Mark emitted a low growl, and she thrilled. She loved his faint, musky smell, his slightly salty taste, how he shuddered. She pumped his steely length and gently squeezed his balls, drawn tight to his body.
Her face was buried in his groin, her knees on her seat, her ass raised high. Gravity had pulled her dress over her hips.
Mark tangled one hand in her hair, then guided her bobbing head in sync with his rocking hips. Her jaw was stretched wide open, and she sealed her lips around his cock as best she could, but saliva dripped down her chin.
He reached for her pussy, then plunged two fingers in deep. In a way he never h
ad but exactly how she craved it, he roughly thrust them in and out. She was so turned on, she could have come with the tiniest flick to her clit, and she wiggled her hips to signal him. Rub me there. Rub me there.
With every inward thrust, his palm slapped against the plug, stimulating nerve endings in her ass. She was sore inside but needy. Sensitive. She clenched the plug. Maybe she could squeeze off an orgasm that way.
“You want to come, don’t you?” he asked.
“Um.” She bobbed her head in assent. Thank goodness he got the message.
“Not yet.”
With a cry of protest, she tried to lift her head, but he drove his cock faster, deeper.
“You’re so good. I love the way you suck me. How wet you get when you do it.” He slammed his fingers into her.
Her body ached, but his encouragement filled her with satisfaction. For him she could wait. She tightened her grip and sucked with all her might. His cock convulsed, and he ejaculated.
* * * *
Stephanie glided ahead of Mark into his condo, seemingly as cool as a beauty queen riding down Main Street. She remembered the self-consciousness of her school days that egged her to crawl into a hole and hide, but she had marched down the halls with her head held high. She called upon that reservoir of strength now to project an outward calm.
Inwardly she screamed for relief. Her engorged, swollen sex pulsed and wept. Her nipples beaded so tight they hurt. Beyond an intellectual sympathy, she’d never before understood a man’s consternation when a woman got him hot and bothered and then left him hanging. So it’s not nice. Get over it, buddy.
Oh, she got it now. Even her womb ached.
Mark had denied her release.
And instead of taking care of it herself or demanding he remedy the situation, she meekly awaited his instruction because he’d commanded it. A longing to please compelled her to follow. Another game-changing moment.