Thoroughly Whipped

by Cole, Tillie

  “If it makes you feel better about things, you can have a safe word, mon petit chaton.” I felt him move between my spread legs, legs that were wide open for his viewing.

  My face blazed in need. Heat smothered my back, and I suddenly felt his erection pressing against me. I sucked in a sharp breath when his chest met my back and his masked cheek met my cheek. It was a heady yet erotic sensation being held in stocks, unable to move, while a man well over six feet tall sprawled across me.

  “So, what shall it be? Do you want a safe word? But remember, in NOX, you just have to say stop and I will stop.” He pressed a warm kiss to my neck. My bones turned to liquid at the feel of him taking control, at his soft lips caressing my throat.

  “No, Maître. No safe word necessary,” I said, fighting a moan, and his teeth bit down on my earlobe. He began rolling his hips, creating a delicious kind of friction, then moved down my back until I felt his hot breath at my clit.

  “If there’s no need for a safe word, then I’ll just proceed with fucking you instead.”

  In seconds, I felt the first swipe of his tongue run from my entrance to my clit. I moaned as he delved back in, his hands pulling my lips apart as he sucked and flicked my clit with his tongue. I moaned, unable to move with the straps on my ankles and my hands and my head fastened in the stocks. My eyes rolled back, and my mouth parted just searching for the breath that Maître was stealing with his hot touch.

  As I drowned in the hedonism he’d promised, it occurred to me that I couldn’t feel his mask. He’d taken it off. I was tempted to fight the stocks, needing more than anything to see what he looked like, but I was trapped and, more than that, I didn’t want him to stop.

  I cried out when he slipped two fingers inside me, his tongue never letting up. “I’m coming,” I said, the crash of pleasure slapping over me like the hardest of floggers. My body tightened and I collapsed, thankful that the stocks were holding me in place. Maître quickly pulled his tongue away, but before I’d had a chance to recover, he slid inside me with one hard thrust.

  I screamed as I clenched around his huge cock. He filled me so much. I gritted my teeth as he started pounding into me like the man had been starved of sex. His hands moved from gripping my hips to pressing against my back. His rhythmic thrusts never faltered once.

  “You feel so good,” he said, his accent French-kissing the vowels of each word. “Hot and wet and tight.”

  I cried out as he changed his angle and started relentlessly pounding against my G-spot. I’d never felt anything like this before. This heat, this attraction, this mind-blowing pleasure. I was like a living orchestral crescendo, gradually getting louder and louder until I screamed, bursting apart like a supernova.

  Maître Auguste slammed into me one more time, exhaling loudly as he came. His hands massaged over my bare back up to my hair, where he wrapped his hand around the long strands. Using his grip, he rolled his hips until all his pleasure had been wrought.

  The feel of Maître’s lips kissing my spine caused tremors of bliss to shudder across my skin. My back arched, searching for more of him. As exhausted and drained of pleasure as I was, I wanted more.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  Maître pulled out of me and reached over me to unfasten the bolts on the stocks. I sagged against the wood, unable to move. Maître gathered me in his arms. When I looked up, his mask and cloak were firmly back in place. He took me to the bed in the center of the room. It was dressed in a red PVC sheet.

  He laid me down, moved to the rack on his wall, and took what looked like a blindfold from one of the hooks. Bringing it to the side of the bed, he said, “I’m going to fuck you up close.” He knelt on the bed and laid the blindfold beside me. Reaching to the wall behind the bed, he took hold of two metal bars.

  “Spreader bars,” he said, threading one through the metal hoops in my wrist cuffs. He pulled on the bar and my arms flew apart. He attached the other bar to my ankle cuffs and adjusted it so my legs widened and I was completely open for his viewing.

  He placed his finger at my ankle then traced it up my calf, over my knee, and up my thigh, until he plunged it inside me. “Argh!” I hissed, trying to roll my hips, searching for even more. Quickly removing his hand, he took the blindfold that had been sitting patiently beside my head.

  “Lift your head.” I did as he said and he placed the blindfold over my eyes and everything went black.

  “Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

  “Not right now.”

  Maître’s fingers crossed over my lips, and I held my breath, wondering if he was about to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to taste him. It felt like he planned to. Then his fingers moved. I heard the rustling of clothes. The bed dipped again. He’d taken his mask off, and I heard it hit the wooden floor.

  Blinking under the blindfold, I tried to make it move enough to see any part of him. Just a glimpse—his cheekbones, his nose, his jaw, anything.

  “Ma chérie,” he said as I felt him climb over me. I felt his hot skin against mine. From foot to face. He had taken everything off. I groaned just imagining how perfect he looked.

  I arched so that my nipples scraped against his hard chest. “I wish I could see you,” I allowed myself to say.

  I moaned in surprise when he ducked down and sucked my nipple into his mouth. “NOX is about playing in the dark, mon petit chaton. About anonymity and the freedom to let go without truly knowing who just made you fall apart.” With his mouth back on my breasts, his finger dropped between my legs and caressed my clit. I instantly climbed higher and higher, my lower back aching from the force of the previous orgasms. But I didn’t care. Nothing mattered right now; no worries plagued my mind. It was just me and Maître and more pleasure than I’d ever felt before.

  Suddenly, just as I was about to crest, Maître moved up my body and placed his hands on either side of the bar separating my hands. The force of his strength pinning me down made warmth gather between my legs.

  I managed to take in a breath just as he placed himself at my entrance and slammed inside. I was glad his heavily muscled body kept me down as the wave of pleasure that overcame me caused me to bow off the mattress, testing the bars’ strength. My channel squeezed, seeking release, and Maître growled in response.

  “Ma chérie,” he said, his voice thick and strained. Maître thrust harder and harder into me. I was slowly falling apart. I was willingly giving myself to this man.

  Maître pulled out of me, and I moaned at the loss. I heard steady footsteps across the room then felt him on the bed again. The classical music and my breathing created a heady symphony as I waited for what came next. I called out in surprise when Maître used the spreader bar at my feet to turn me over. My breasts pressed against the PVC sheet; then I felt a sharp swat to my behind. I cried out. Not in pain, but…I felt it again. And I wanted more. I wanted more and more.

  “Flogging,” Maître said, just as another smack lashed my cheeks. It didn’t hurt; the subtle sting the soft strands brought carried a feeling of electricity racing up my back, switching on every erogenous zone I had on me.

  When Maître flogged me again, he aimed lower, the strands brushing my clit. I groaned at the addictive sensation, desperately wanting it back again. Sweat built on my forehead, and I tried to grip the PVC sheet beneath me just for something to ground me.

  “I will bring you pleasure,” Maître said. His voice was calm. “Never pain.” Maître lashed the flogger down again. I’d barely had enough time to familiarize myself with the static currents buzzing through me when he pushed inside me again, smacking the flogger down on my ass as he did. The twin sensations of pleasure and subtle stinging became so much I thought I would black out.

  With every strike and thrust, I melted into the mattress until every fiber in my body tightened, and I screamed so loudly in release that my throat grew hoarse. My ass cheeks were still pulsing and throbbing when Maître gripped my hips and pounded into me three more times before he
growled out his release. His grip slid to the spreader bar at my hands as he lay over me, his full body draping over me like a blanket. In the darkness, I lay spent and so sated I feared I would never be able to move again.

  Maître breathed hard. I felt his abdominal muscles against my back and never wanted to leave this room. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know.” Maître huffed out a laugh. The beautiful sound of his humor curled around me, holding me close. Letting go of the bar, he moved down my body. Next I felt his hands rubbing my ass cheeks, massaging the skin. I groaned. His soothing touch felt like heaven.

  I sank into the mattress, but eventually Maître moved off me. When he returned, he untied my hands and ankles from the spreader bars, placing them back on the wall behind us. He rolled me onto his chest, wrapping his arms around me. Out of everything, this had startled me the most tonight.

  “You did well,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. I frowned at the fluttering feeling shifting beneath my sternum again. I hadn’t expected the closeness, the softness.

  “I’m boneless,” I said, seeking warmth from the muscled arms that lay around me.

  “Then it has been a successful night.”

  Several seconds ticked by, “Ave Maria” serenating us through the speakers. I melted against his warm skin. “You’re holding me,” I said, feeling completely spend and…safe. He made me feel warm and safe. “I’m not complaining.”

  Maître laughed, and I felt the comforting rumble against my cheek, lying on his pec. “This, mon petit chaton, is aftercare.”

  “Like you get after an operation?”

  Maître’s hand moved up and down my back. It was hypnotic. “When a siren has been fucked, or punished, or both, their Maître cares for them, makes them feel safe, as you said.”

  “Mm,” I murmured, feeling sleepy. I must have fallen asleep, as Maître woke me up peppering kisses along my spine. I blinked away my slumber, the bed coming into a hazy view under my veil.

  “It’s time to go,” Maître said, and I sat up. I ached everywhere, but I wouldn’t complain. It was a delicious kind of ache.

  “Every weekend,” he said, kissing the back of my hand like a true gentleman. “You will come to me. Friday and Saturday nights. No going to the main floor. You are mine and mine alone.” Exhilaration took me in its hold. Maître wanted me. Wanted me only for himself. “Do you want that?”

  “Yes, Maître,” I said, as his hand skirted down my arm, across my breasts, and between my legs. His touch was a silent promise of what was to come. I wanted to be just his. The main room was overwhelming. In this chambre…it was a kind of freedom I’d never felt before.

  “Bon.” He got up from the bed. “You have been good tonight, mon petit chaton.” I found myself relishing his praise. “I cannot wait until we play again. Bonne nuit, ma chérie.”

  Maître left through his private door. The gong sounded through the building, and I went home, still feeling his lips kissing every inch of my skin.

  Chapter Ten

  “I can’t believe you let him do that, Faith!” Amelia said, wide eyed.

  I took a sip of my coffee. For weeks I had been under Maître’s control, and thus underneath him. “What’s a little gentle caning between friends?” I said, shrugging. Things had progressed in Maître’s chambre. And every time I stepped away from NOX, I craved my return.

  “Whatever floats your boat, I say,” Sage agreed.

  “You’ve been tied to spreader bars, put in stocks, tied to a St Andrews Cross—”

  “A firm favorite,” I interrupted.

  “You’ve been flogged and caned. And now he’s training you to not come until he says so?” Amelia said in exasperation.

  “Delayed gratification. It’s amazing,” I said and shook my head. “It’s like he’s a magician and my body magically cannot release until he says so. It’s crazy. And you come so much harder when you hold off. I actually think I might have passed out for a few seconds last time.”

  “It’s impressive, is what it is,” Novah remarked.

  “Don’t you ever just want normal sex?” Amelia asked.

  I thought about her question. “I wouldn’t rule it out, but I love all the kink. Never thought I’d buy into it, but here we are.”

  “And Maître?” Sage asked.

  At the mention of Maître Auguste, I felt tingles along my spine. I knew it wasn’t a good thing. He was my sex club master and I his siren. But every time I was with him, I could feel something inside me starting to change, a fondness toward him starting to grow. I would find myself praying his mask would fall off. I wanted to know who was underneath his disguise so much it was a borderline obsession. He fucked like a sex god, but it was the aftercare I craved most. Obviously, he was the first master I’d ever had. I had no idea how other masters treated their subs. But when I laid against his chest, his skin warm and smelling of mahogany and tobacco because of his cologne, I never wanted to move.

  “Oh shit,” Sage said, whipping to face me. “You like him.”

  “Of course I like him. I’m sleeping with him.”

  “No, he’s right,” Amelia said and placed her hands on my cheeks. She searched my eyes. “Faith, you have feelings for him. This is how you looked during the Oscar Dempsey episode in sophomore year.”

  I laughed but felt the truth of those words spanking my ass as hard as Maître’s cane could. “Not true,” I argued.

  “Can you fall for your master?” Novah asked. “I mean, you don’t even know what he looks like. He could be sitting in the booth next to us right now, and you’d have no clue.” She was right of course. It wasn’t a just that I liked Maître. I was infatuated with him, with his hands and confidence in the bedroom. No man had ever pleasured me like he did. I was completely addicted.

  “He’s hot. I know he is. A man with that kind of strut and sexual prowess cannot be anything but.”

  “He said himself that the club is just one big role-play. What if his affection toward you is just sexual? Or what if he’s just playing the part really well?” Amelia said.

  A pain akin to a blade being plunged into my chest hit me with blunt-force speed. “Look,” I said, flicking back my hair. “I don’t like him that way. Like you said, it’s impossible to know the real man underneath all the theatrics. It’s sex, sex I’m writing about for a feature. That’s all there is to it.”

  My three friends were silent at that, which was a feat in itself. We never shut up. “Nove?” I said and gathered my jacket and purse. “Are you ready? Sally’s only out until ten and I’ve got a meeting with her. I think we’ve stretched out breakfast enough.” She stood and grabbed her things. “See you hookers at home,” I said to Sage and Amelia. I kissed Sage on his cheek, then Amelia.

  “We love you,” Amelia said softly, weirdly causing a lump to block my throat. “We just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I know,” I said and pulled my best friend in for a hug. I could never accuse them all of not caring. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Time is quickly running out with Maître anyway. Weeks, that’s all.”

  “Finite weeks can be a lifetime when you’re in love. Hell, so can a single day.”

  “I’m not in love.” I smirked. “Okay, maybe a little bit with his epically huge disco stick, but that’s it. I swear.” I found Novah. “You ready, Red?”

  “Let’s go.” We headed toward the building and Nove said, “Little boy blue blood is back tomorrow isn’t he?”

  “That’s what Theo said yesterday. Said he flies in sometime today.” My thoughts immediately went to Harry and our last meeting. Get in the bloody car, Faith!

  “You think it’ll be awkward? You know, since the last time you spoke you soiled his car with rainwater and he read the list.”

  “Shit, don’t remind me,” I said. “It’ll be fine. We don’t speak, it was just unfortunate circumstances that shoved us together that night. Yeah, he might think I’m a dirty little bitch who’s into really messe
d-up sex.” I shrugged. “To me, that would only make a person more intriguing, but to a prude like Harry Sinclair, he’s probably planning to give me as wide a berth as possible and regular STD tests.”

  Novah laughed and covered her mouth. I gave her the side eye. “I’m sorry! But you have to admit that our uptight CEO reading about fisting and nipple torture has been a real highlight of the year so far.” I decided to ignore her. It didn’t last long. As we entered the elevator, Novah asked, “You got your notes ready for Sally?”

  I tapped my purse. “In here.”

  “She’ll love them.”

  “I hope so.”

  I had worked for a couple of days on the first lot of notes for my feature to show Sally. The big article wouldn’t be expected for review for a while yet, but she wanted to make sure I had the right tone. I was proud of it. It had my trademark cut-throat style and elements of humor and wit, and I’d adhered to the strict rules of the NDA.

  As soon as my appointment time with Sally rolled around, I knocked on her office door. “Piss off!” she shouted. She never said “come in” or “enter” like a normal person. It was always a synonym of “go away,” but normally not so polite. Carla, her PA, nodded at me to go in. Sally was behind her desk, reading something.

  “Notes,” she said without looking up at me. I handed them over and sat down. My ass had barely skimmed the leather when Sally slammed her hand on the desk and swiveled around in her chair. “Are you shitting me with this, Faith?”

  I jumped at her sudden ire. “Erm…in what way?”

  “In what way!” Sally stood up, her chair plummeting straight into the wall behind her. She hit my notes with the back of her hand. “A deviant display of the too-rich Manhattan elite.” She went on. “Pompous pricks prancing as ponies…purple-eyed bunnies, too-rich singletons who need deeper orgasms?”

  “What?” I asked, not understanding what the hell was going on.

  “Are you even taking this seriously, Faith? Have you read any of our main features?”