by Maren Smith
He snapped the leather down across the fullest part of her ass with a resounding thwack. Even before he could watch the gratifying crimson stripe bloom to life, she leapt up and shrieked.
“Ow! Fuck! Ow ow ow ow ow!”
“Get your ass back down over the bench,” he snarled. “Or do I need to tie you down?”
“No, Sir.” She moved slowly, getting back into position. He thought he heard her sniffle.
“That wasn’t even a hard one.” He hadn’t given her any kind of warm up, true, but he had compensated for that by only delivering a medium strength stroke. For starters, anyway. Considering how furious he was with her, he felt he was displaying spectacular self-control.
“Let’s continue,” he said. “If you get up again, I will restrain you.” Ignoring the way his dick twitched at the sight of the perfect pink stripe across her pale, surprisingly full ass cheeks, he raised the belt again.
Chapter 5
Tasha had forgotten how to breathe. Her entire world had contracted to a single focal point: the fire Eamon was lighting in her backside. It was like nothing else existed, and it took every ounce of her concentration to make sure she held her position.
She did not want to be restrained. He was angry enough—doing anything else to antagonize him at this point would only make things worse.
The belt lashed across her buttocks again and all she wanted to do was leap up and run. Instead, she did the only thing she could think of; she howled from the very depths of her soul.
“You brought this on yourself,” he said icily, a second before he delivered the third stroke.
Until just a few moments ago—had it really been so short a time?—she would have sworn that she was aroused by the thought of Master Eamon taking his belt to her.
Now she couldn’t imagine anyone ever willingly subjecting themselves to, let alone getting sexually excited by such treatment.
She choked in a breath, only vaguely aware of the tears dripping off the end of her nose. When had she started crying? She hadn’t even noticed.
Odd. She never usually cried from physical pain.
Another blaze of stinging heat as the leather came down again…
… and again.
“Am I getting through to you yet?”
Steeling herself for the next stroke, she jumped when she felt his hand on her hot, sore skin instead. He was caressing her, reigniting the burn with his gentle touch.
“Yes.” She choked back a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
“You mark beautifully.” His fingertips traced her ass cheeks almost lovingly, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than for him to go on touching her, for his big, warm hand to slip lower and to the left—
“You’re very sensitive. Guess it’s been a while, huh?”
You could say that. “Yes, Sir.”
“What are you going to do next time you’re given an order?” He lifted his hand away and she squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that the brief respite was over.
For some reason, she was having trouble speaking.
The strap fell lower this time, right in the crease where her buttocks met her thighs. And strangely, while the pain was no less intense, when it began to fade, it also resettled somehow, shifting to smolder between her legs… where it created a very different kind of ache.
“I asked you a question.”
Tasha wanted to scream. Her world was upside down and inside out. She was completely naked, in a dungeon, while an admittedly gorgeous man was doing things to her body she’d never even dreamed of, and she was supposed to be concentrating on his words?
“I… I forgot the question,” she whispered.
Another lick of supple leather on her sore, stinging flesh. “What are you going to do next time you’re given an order?” His tone was hoarse, somehow, ragged, almost as if he were the one being punished.
“Obey,” she gasped, spreading her thighs a little wider apart—anything to relieve the increasingly intolerable heat building there.
“Good girl. Just three more. Need to drive home the lesson.”
How many had she had? She’d lost count after the first couple. Good girl, he’d said. Was she a good girl?
She didn’t think so.
And obviously he didn’t think so, otherwise he wouldn’t be punishing her.
The final three strokes came in such quick, agonizing succession that Tasha didn’t even have time to draw breath, let alone scream. Instead she clutched the bench she was bending over so hard that her fingers ached, waiting for the initial agony to subside.
Realizing she was wet.
Before she could even process everything that was going on in her traitorous body, she heard something clatter to the floor and felt his hand in her hair, gripping it at the base of her skull, yanking her up and around until she was nose to nose with him.
His huge, powerful body was pressed against the entire length of hers and the rock-hard bulge against her belly was unmistakable.
His handsome face was taut with anger but there was something else in those piercing eyes.
Lust.
Despite the heat emanating from him, she felt goosebumps prickle over her bare skin, and a twist of aching need shot through her lower belly.
“What do you say?” he growled.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered.
He shook her, just a tiny bit, his hand still gripping her hair. “What else?”
Tasha’s mind went blank as she stared at his lips, so close to her own. Suddenly she wanted, more than anything else in the world, for him to kiss her.
“Fuck,” he growled, and then his mouth was on hers, his tongue slipping between her lips with such possession, such authority, that if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have sunk to her knees.
His kiss made all the other kisses she’d ever had seem juvenile, somehow. Tame. Utterly meaningless.
Unable to stop herself, she wound her arms around his neck, rejoicing in the way his lips crushed her own, in the feel of him, the heady, masculine scent of him.
It felt like an eternity.
It felt like a single heartbeat.
He shoved her away with a grunt and she put trembling fingers to her lips, wondering if they looked as swollen as they felt. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he commanded.
She was glad she was still leaning against the bench, as her knees felt like water.
He stripped with practiced ease, tugging off his black t-shirt to reveal a huge expanse of muscled, tattooed chest before kicking off his boots and unlacing his black leather pants.
Tasha watched, mesmerized, as he rolled a condom over his enormous cock before once more slanting his mouth over hers and picking her up as if she weighed nothing at all.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped her legs around his waist, only vaguely aware that he was carrying her, barely registering the renewed sting as his fingers dug into her ass.
The cold stone wall hit her back and she gasped into his mouth, trapped between the unforgiving rock and his rippling muscles.
Not allowing her to come up for air, he reached between them and adjusted his cock until the tip was pressing at the entrance to her pussy.
He’s so big, she thought in the briefest second of panic. I can’t take it all, there’s no way—
With a single, hard thrust, Master Eamon proved her wrong, penetrating her with one smooth, commanding motion, forcing her to stretch to accommodate his girth.
Buried to the hilt inside her, he paused, pinning her to the wall with his pelvis, his tongue still sliding over hers with a languid ease so at odds with the rest of his forceful demeanor.
Tasha had never felt anything like it before. Even though his hips had stilled, she could feel herself clenching around his cock, trying to draw him deeper. He was touching parts in her she hadn’t even known existed and she knew, she just knew, that the minute he started to move, she would lose control.
She’d never come from penetrati
on before but when he finally lifted his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes for the briefest second before rearing back and slamming into her, she screamed and came apart.
Watching her closely, he continued to thrust, hard, grinding her against the wall, every stroke unleashing another wave of hot, tingly pleasure until she was sobbing with the intensity of it all, clinging to his shoulders, her pussy both milking and drenching his unforgiving cock.
His hand found her breast, squeezing it hard, tugging at the swollen, aching nipple, rolling it between his fingertips and pinching it until the searing lance of pain shot straight to her clit and she cried out, spasming around him once again.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes dark with lust, his movements growing jerkier, his fingers digging into her skin, harder and harder until he came with a roar, his cock pulsating inside her, slamming her against the wall. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he bit down and she shuddered uncontrollably at the sharp combination of pleasure and pain.
They remained like that for several long moments, catching their breath; with him still trapping her, his face hidden; with her still impaled, her limbs hanging limply in the air.
Then, slowly, he withdrew and set her down on her feet. “Wait here,” he said gruffly and disappeared.
Tasha, feeling more wet, used, and thoroughly fucked than she’d ever been in her life, sank to the ground, barely feeling the way the stone scraped over the bare skin of her back.
Wait here.
As if she had a choice.
Eamon disposed of the condom, did his pants back up, and fetched a blanket from one of the aftercare rooms, berating himself all the way.
He shouldn’t have done that. They hadn’t discussed it, she hadn’t consented—or even asked for it. He’d had no right to fuck her.
But holy hell, he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
The way her bubble butt had jiggled with each lash of the belt.
The way her creamy skin had turned ever darker shades of pink.
The way she had spread her thighs, as if in invitation.
The heady scent of her arousal.
And, Christ, the way she’d looked at him when he’d asked her to thank him.
Not that she had, he realized. It was almost as if she hadn’t had a clue what he was talking about. Whomever she’d played with before, he’d done a piss poor job.
Eamon had always taken great pride in his self-control. He’d never given in, never lost it, regardless of the situation, regardless of the temptation.
Until today.
He found her in a heap on the floor, looking as dazed as he felt.
“Here, baby,” he said, helping her up and wrapping the blanket around her. “Come over here.”
There was a mattress in the corner and he led her to it, sinking down with her bundled in his arms. She was still trembling.
“Do you need some water?”
She shook her head.
He held her for a moment, rocking her as if she were a child. Mascara streaked her cheeks and he wondered why she’d wept.
Usually he was aware of every second, of every nuance of a session and his sub’s reaction.
What the fuck had gotten into him?
“I’m sorry,” he said at length. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked up at him, genuine concern in her big doe eyes. “Done what?”
“Taken advantage of you.”
To his astonishment, she giggled. “You didn’t. I wanted you to… I wanted to…” She trailed off, obviously embarrassed.
“Wanted me to what?”
“Fuck me.” The admission made an adorable blush rise in her cheeks.
She really was an enigma. He’d never met such a shy, almost naïve Little Maid before.
“Still,” he heard himself saying, “we should have discussed it beforehand.”
“Why? You wanted it, I wanted it. What’s to discuss?”
The blanket had slipped enough to reveal one plump, creamy breast, the nipple still standing at attention as if begging for his teeth. Eamon felt himself grow hard again.
This woman would be the death of him.
“You still haven’t thanked me for disciplining you,” he said.
There was a pause while she looked up at him. There was still desire in her eyes but now there was something else, too. Confusion?
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Are you going to sneak off again?”
She let out a little snort. “Will you fuck me like that again if I do?”
Suppressing a smile, he tightened his hold on her. “No.” Then, gratified to see the disappointment on her beautiful face, he went on, “Next time, I’ll take a paddle or maybe even a cane to your ass. Then I’ll strap you down with a vibe on your clit and deny you permission to come until you’re screaming, crying, begging…”
She shuddered in his arms.
“But only good girls get fucked,” he went on. “Only good girls get to come.”
There was a pause. “I’ve never… done that before,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Come from penetration. I always thought it was a myth.”
“Really?” He was astonished. “But you came so fast—”
“I know.” She sighed and snuggled deeper against him. “It was amazing. And I don’t think I’d have been able not to if I’d tried.”
“You don’t have any experience with orgasm control?”
“God, no. Usually I consider myself extremely lucky if I have one. Be stupid of me to try not to.”
Eamon contemplated this. “So you’ve never had a Dom who enjoyed edging? Who took control of your body that way?”
“No, never…”
Curiouser and curiouser. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she had done before, since it had obviously been so long since she’d last been spanked, she didn’t have a safeword, she’d never experienced orgasm control, and the most basic interactions—thanking a Dom after discipline, for instance—seemed beyond her. But that was a conversation for a later time.
“How’s your ass?” he said at length. Anything to fill the silence.
She shifted in his lap with a little moan. “Sore.”
“Good.” He closed his eyes at the memory of her bent over that bench, the leather whapping against her creamy flesh. It was getting late in the afternoon. Time to get back to work before Dominick caught them.
Eamon really wanted to sort through the confusion of his own feelings about Tasha before having to explain himself to his direct supervisor.
“I want to see you tonight,” he heard himself saying. “Will you go to dinner with me?”
She let out a soft chuckle. “Is that how you guys woo women around here? First sex, then dinner? Do you have it backwards, or is it the rest of the world?”
He was unable to suppress a smile. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me at six then, outside The Master’s Table. Do you know where that is?”
“I do but it seems a bit fancy. Can’t we just go to the buffet?”
“It’s my turn to make an appearance at the Supper and Show tonight. You’ll have to go to Wardrobe first. Tell them where you’re going, and that I’ll be escorting you. They’ll know what to do.”
“Okay.”
He frowned. Used to being called ‘Sir’ by pretty much everyone, he wasn’t sure whether her lack of honorifics was endearing or annoying. “Are you ready to get back to work?”
“Not really. I could just lie here all day.” She shifted again, putting more pressure on his cock. He wondered whether it was intentional.
Down, boy.
“Well, as comfortable as this is, we need to get moving. Come on, up you get.” He patted her hip and she lumbered, grumbling, to her feet, the blanket slipping even further to reveal the winking stud in her belly button. Averting his eyes—he was hard enough already—he got up too and busied himself with tracking down her uniform, his boots and
his t-shirt.
As he helped her back into her clothes, he could feel her eyes on him even though he was concentrating on the buttons. He didn’t want to meet her gaze, though. If she was wearing the same expression she had before, he couldn’t be responsible for his actions.
He needed some time away from her. To think. To analyze. To breathe.
Then why did you ask her to dinner? a little voice in his head said accusingly. You should have just sent her on her way, put her back to work. Given yourself at least an evening to cool off.
Truth be told, the invitation had slipped out—he hadn’t been thinking straight. But he wanted to take her out. Wanted to wine and dine her.
Why?
The Master’s Table was put on every evening for the Castle guests. A multi-course dinner in full period costume with a different floor show every night, and all house Masters had to make an appearance on their scheduled evenings. He’d done shows there before, too, but whenever it was his night to attend as a dinner guest, he always took a fellow employee as his ‘date.’ One he had a platonic friendship with. Eamon bit back a rueful smile. For some reason, taking a girl out to dinner felt more intimate to him than tying her up naked and whipping her, or even giving her the best orgasms of her life. He couldn’t explain it, but there it was.
“You’re all set,” he said, once he’d done up the last buttons. Her incredible tits were pushed up and out, and he thought idly how they’d look even prettier with a few well-placed cane stripes.
“Thank you.”
“You’re going to go straight back to work now, aren’t you?”
There was a pause. “Yes, of course.”
“Do I need to watch you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Good, because I have other things to do besides make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be.” It came out harsher than he’d intended and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He almost saw her flinch. “Actually,” he said hastily, to change the subject, “let’s meet outside Wardrobe. Quarter to six. Got it?”
“All right.”
“Good,” he said. Straightening his back, he lifted his chin, trying to ignore the undeniable impulse to take her in his arms. “I’ll see you then.” Still without meeting her eyes, his erection straining uncomfortably, he turned on his heel and stalked out.