Kate nodded. See, she told herself, he's a pro. Relax. The guy knows what he's doing. She focused on her breathing deep in ...
slow out. Deep in ... slow out. After a while she did feel herself calming down. Her heart had slowed to a more normal pace and she could catch her breath.
"Much better," Master John pronounced.
"Are you ready, slave girl? I want to start the scene. That means you obey me, to the letter. You do what I say, you take what I give you. Understood?"
Kate nodded, her heart picking up its pace despite the relaxation techniques just employed. She would use this experience for her novel. It would be set in ancient Rome. The girl had been a princess in her own realm, before it was
conquered and absorbed by Rome. Now she was just a slave girl, a part of the spoils of war. She had been sold to a powerful man with dangerous sexual appetites who had the authority to have her put to death if she didn't obey his every whim. The setting would be lush, draped in silk, scented with perfumes and incense, ripe with erotic danger and sexual promise...
"Step back and kick off your shoes."
Master John's voice pulled Kate back to the moment.
"I want you to bend forward, ass out, legs shoulder-width apart.
Keep your face forward, head down."
Kate swallowed hard as she moved to obey. This was no fiction.
It was real. He moved behind her. She could hear the unzipping of something, probably his duffel bag. A moment later he appeared at her side. She turned to look at him. He was holding a long, thin cane with a dark wooden handle. He whipped it in the air a few times, which made her flinch and bite her lip. His smile was cruel, his eyes sparkling.
"That's right. Soon you'll feel that on your ass. On this beautiful ass."
He bent slightly, reaching beneath her long skirt, running his hand along her leg until he was cupping one cheek. The thong Kate was wearing did little to cover her bottom, save for the strip of black lace between the cheeks. She held her breath as his hand moved over her skin, lightly stroking the flesh. She half feared, half-ached for his hand to move lower, between her legs.
Instead he lifted her skirt, bunching and twisting it in his hands before tucking it into its waistband. She felt the cool air against her ass and legs.
"I don't like that look," he announced.
"The skirt all bunched up like that is very unattractive.
Visuals are so important in the scene, Ashley. Surely you can appreciate that."
She said nothing, but shifted slightly, feeling the slight tug of the cuffs around her wrists. As she moved, the gathered
skirt came loose, falling again over her legs. Master John gave an annoyed snort.
"It won't do. This will end up being a liability. It could get in the way and I could harm you without meaning to."
He moved close behind her again, pressing his body against hers. He brought his arms around her, enfolding her from behind. He smelled good and his hard body felt good pressed against hers.
She pressed back against him, letting a small sigh escape her lips. Taking her cue, he nuzzled her neck, lightly kissing the skin.
"Let me take it off," he murmured.
"It's not like you're exposing anything more than tucking it up would do."
He kissed her again, the tip of his tongue drawing a line along her flesh.
He was right. If she trusted him to cuff and cane her, surely it was okay to remove her skirt. She nodded her assent. Master John stepped back at once, letting her go. She wanted him back.
If she hadn't been cuffed to the bar, she would have turned around and pulled him into her arms. She was, she suddenly realized, very lonely for physical touch. She hadn't been out on a date for months, so caught up in her work, and anyway, there was no one she knew in whom she had the slightest interest.
That was one of the disadvantages of country living, the pickings were slim.
Master John unbuttoned and unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to her feet. She stepped aside, allowing him to whisk it away. She still had the waist cincher, which effectively covered her body. Its tight grip was comforting somehow, like a man's hands spanning her waist.
"Beautiful," Master John murmured, the appreciation ripe in his voice. In spite of herself, Kate couldn't stop the small smile his compliment pulled from her. He cupped the globes of her ass and then ran his fingers lightly along her inner thighs, stroking the bare skin above the lace bands of her stockings. Kate shifted slightly, willing his hands to move higher, her heart thumping fast. Following her silent dictate,
Master John's hands moved up, the fingers grazing the throbbing pulse at her sex.
"You want this, don't you?" he whispered.
"I can feel your heat."
She held herself very still, her heart thudding in her ears. They hadn't negotiated any sex for this scene, but touching wasn't sex, was it? And anyway, she wanted it. He was right. She needed it.
She needed his touch.
"Oh!" The word was pulled involuntarily from her lips when she felt him pulling aside the lace that covered her swollen labia. His fingers moved feather-light over the delicate folds and Kate shuddered. Her face was hot with a mixture of lust and embarrassment, but she didn't want him to stop. He pushed the tip of one finger into her entrance and gave a low growl of muted laughter.
"Yes, you're wet. Sopping. Of course you are. You were born to be displayed for my pleasure, to experience the erotic suffering that can take you places you never dreamed."
This time she felt no urge to giggle at his words. They struck a chord deep inside her. Yes, she was born to this. It felt so right. It felt right that her wrists were tethered, her ass bared, her legs spread, waiting to feel the kiss of the cane, the stroke of strong, masculine fingers moving over her skin.
She sighed and arched her back, literally aching for his touch.
Master John withdrew his hand and Kate suppressed a sigh.
Down, girl, she told herself, reminding herself she wasn't here to have sex, but to experience a caning firsthand.
If something developed later between them, well and good.
Master John drew the cane along her skin.
"Are you ready, lovely girl? Ready to suffer for me?"
The words sent another tremor through her. Erotic suffering, a concept she understood intellectually but had never fully grasped. How could pain equal pleasure?
And yet she was longing to find out. She ached to know, at last, what it was she'd been yearning for and had yet to find. She'd been waiting for this for so long. Victor had tried, but failed to give her what she needed. Had she found it at last with this man?
"Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."
She startled as she heard the whoosh of bamboo whipping through the air beside her. But when the cane touched her skin, the stroke was light, not at all painful. It was more of a tap. He moved it over both cheeks and the backs of her thighs, keeping up a steady tap-tap-tap that warmed her skin but didn't hurt a bit.
He kept this up for some time, until she almost asked him to do it harder. She wanted to feel its fiery sting. She was ready. As if reading her mind, he increased the stroke's power, just enough.
He reached again between her legs, his fingers moving over the lace, which Kate realized was wet with her own juices. He tugged at it, pulling the fabric up between her labia and then drawing his fingers along the exposed, swollen flesh on either side. Kate's clit was throbbing and she came within a hair's breadth of begging him to make her come. Instead, his hand was again withdrawn, moving over her ass cheeks, preparing it for what she knew was to
come, what she wanted, she reminded herself, far more than a simple orgasm.
This time, he used more of the cane, letting it lick in long, stinging lines over both cheeks at once. It hurt, yes, it did, but it was a good pain, if that made any sense. It darted along her nerve endings, zinging straight toward her sex.
As he continued to flick the bamboo, slowly but steadily increasing the i
ntensity, Kate began to breathe faster, clenching the bar to keep still. He struck harder, one slicing cut that made her gasp and instinctively close her legs.
"Back into position."
Master John punctuated his command with several stinging strokes to her thighs. Kate hurried to obey, her heart now slamming into her ribs. He struck her ass again, even harder than before, and again she gasped, jerking against the bar, though she managed to keep her legs apart.
"It hurts. Too much," she managed between pants.
What had just a moment before been a perfect balance between pleasure and erotic suffering now shifted decidedly toward pure pain. Why had she thought she wanted this?Yet, even as this thought entered her mind, her skin was tingling,
waiting, anticipating the next fiery stroke.
"It hurts just enough," Master John countered.
"And you're only just beginning. You won't be laughing at me when we're done, I assure you, little girl."
"Oh, no," she protested. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was Just, "
Her words ended in yet another gasp as his cane caught her sharply across her left cheek, its tip curling cruelly against her hip.
"I know exactly what you were doing. It's one reason I choose beautiful women to subjugate."
Something in his voice had changed, hardened.
Kate was confused by the sudden shift in mood. The air itself felt chillier.
"Beneath the soft skin, pretty smiles and perky tits, you're all just dirty cunts who need to be put in their place. You need taming. You need humbling. You haven't learned that a woman's place is naked
at a man's feet. You have to be taught."
His words were like ice on her skin. He struck her again, several times in rapid succession.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
Kate was dancing on her feet, trying in vain to move away from the sharp bite of the bamboo. Her wrists were caught painfully now in the grip of the cuffs, which had tightened as she jerked away. She tried to process what the hell he'd just said, while her body sought to avoid the cane. She didn't like the sneering tone that had crept into his voice. She liked the words he'd said even less. You're all just dirty cunts. What the fuck ... ?
"Hush." His voice was sharp.
"You're too loud. I'll gag you if you don't quiet down."
Panic edged her words.
"John, please. I need to slow down."
"That's Master John. You forget yourself, slave girl. I'll decide when you need to slow down, not you."
He struck her again, just as hard.
"Please! I can't..." She panted, trying to catch her breath.
"You're going too fast. It's too much. I've never, "
He clamped his hand suddenly over her mouth, his fingers pressing painfully hard against her cheek. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear.
"Don't give me that crap. You can protest all you want, but your cunt doesn't lie. You love it. You're a pain slut, just like all of them. You need the pain. You beg and plead for me to stop, but you know you want it. Deal with it. Embrace it. I'm not going to stop until I decide you've had enough."
His body was pressed against hers and she could feel his erection, an iron bar poking hard against her back.
The first gush of real fear exploded inside her. Adrenaline shot through her blood and she felt dizzy, almost sick. His hand was still clamped on her mouth, but she managed to nod. The minute he took his hand off, she'd say her safe word. She'd scream it.
Though she hadn't been sure what to expect, this wasn't it. This scene needed to end. Now.
But when he let go, he used the cane so quickly she didn't have time to speak, as it caught her like a blade across both thighs.
The explosion of pain left her voiceless for several seconds, all the air smacked out of her by the sudden, vicious cut of his cane.
"Fuck," she finally whispered, her eyes squeezed tight. He struck her again, a second line of stinging fire.
"No," she moaned. She knew she was supposed to be saying something else, but for the moment all coherent thought had vanished from her mind.
Biting cut after biting cut of the cane moved over her thighs and ass like hornets stinging in long, agonizing lines. There was nothing erotic anymore in what was happening. It was a beating, plain and simple.
Red.
She just had to say that word. Just force her lips, tongue and breath to cooperate ... Help me.
"Red,"
she finally managed, her voice a ragged whisper.
He didn't seem to hear her, or if he had, he ignored it. The caning went on. She felt herself sagging against the railing as her knees gave way. Pain spilled through her mind like blood gushing from a wound, blotting everything but the desire to escape. Dimly, she was aware of a low, feral moan. It was, she finally realized with vague horror, her own voice.
CHAPTER 6
Chase saw Ashley, red shiny hair cascading over a black corset and loose flowing white skirt, and his heart
constricted. He started toward her, drawn like a moth to her flame. As luck would have it, John Brighton chose that moment to appear, causing Chase to halt in his tracks. He watched them talk a few minutes, and then Brighton led Ashley toward the back of the dungeon, no doubt to one of the secluded play areas where onlookers weren't welcome.
Chase wanted to follow them. He wanted to keep tabs on Ashley. No, what he really wanted was to be the one leading her by the hand, though not toward a play area, but out of the building. They could go for a drink and talk. He could find out about her, what she did, what her interest in BDSM was, if she had someone significant waiting at home. He could stare into those lovely green eyes and lean forward to kiss her soft, red lips...
Chase was distracted from his musings by Amber and William, who were waving wildly as they approached him. William was hefting a large messenger bag over his shoulder that Chase guessed was filled with ropes, chain and other paraphernalia for their evening of public play and display.
"Chase!"
William enthused when they were close enough to speak.
"I am so glad we ran into you. I didn't think you came to the parties."
Chase shrugged.
"Not usually."
He didn't elaborate.
"Well, it's great you're here now. I've got these cool new suspension cuffs for hanging Amber upside down by her ankles.
A bunch of guys are going to take turns flogging her."
"I can't wait,"
Amber burst in, her smile wide. She was a pretty woman, petite with honey blond hair, decked out in a red leather mini dress that exposed more than it covered.
William nodded enthusiastically.
"It'd be great if you could check out the rope rigging for me. We wouldn't want Amber to fall on her head."
Not able to think of a polite way to refuse, Chase followed the couple, his mind still on Ashley and Brighton. It was a good twenty minutes before he could finally extricate
himself from the pair. He told himself it was a good thing he'd helped them, as William had chosen the wrong rope for the project, and was barely competent at knots, despite attending a number of Chase's seminars and hands-on workshops. How he'd managed to avoid harming Amber to this point was anybody's guess.
Chase moved slowly through the dungeon, his progress impeded on several more occasions by folks surprised to see him there, or eager for a bit of advice for their bondage scenes. He spied Stacey with two tall, good looking guys.
They had her on her back between them, legs spread wide, some kind of board with electrodes attached to it secured at her crotch. Chase had never found electric shock play erotic, but Stacey looked like she was having a grand time, so who was he to judge.
When he finally got to the corner where he was pretty sure Brighton and Ashley were, the low, mournful sound of someone in real pain reached his ears and set his teeth on edge. He stood rooted to the spot for a second, his mind at war with itself.
Interrupting a scene was bad pl
ay etiquette, unless someone was in danger. But what was he really
hearing? Was it even Ashley and Brighton?
As he debated, he heard the unmistakable sound of bamboo whipping through the air and making contact, followed again by that pained, ragged moan. The thought of Ashley, or
anyone for that matter, broken to the level of suffering the cries implied spurred Chase into action.
Aware he might not even be in the right spot, and that there was a chance he was going to make a total ass of himself, Chase pushed past the screened partition to see for himself what was going on.
The scene that met his eyes left him paralyzed again, but only for the split second it took his mind to process what he was seeing. Ashley was slumped forward against a railing, her wrists cuffed to it, her hands purple from lack of circulation. She was still in her waist cincher, but her skirt and shoes were off.
The skin on her ass and thighs was
heavily welted with a crisscross of dark red lines.
Brighton stood behind and just to the side of her, steadily flicking the cane against tortured flesh with a practiced hand.
Maybe for someone like Lotus Flower, who was trained to take it, and craved this level of intensity, the scene would have been appropriate. Maybe. For a novice like Ashley, Chase would have bet his very life the scene had gone way past consensual. Why hadn't she used her safe word?
These thoughts took only seconds to ripple through Chase's mind before rage exploded in his head like a crashing tsunami, sweeping away all rational thought in its wake.
In two strides he was at Ashley's side, shoving Brighton violently out of his way. He turned the keys in both cuffs and pulled them open. Ashley's hands fell limply to her sides and she slumped the rest of the way down, landing on her knees. Chase reached down, intending to lift her into his arms, but before he could, he was hauled up and thrown with considerable force against wall. He was stunned for a
moment by the impact.
Leaping to his feet, he was ready when Brighton came at him, fists raised. He was desperately aware that Ashley needed him.
At least she wasn't bleeding, but she clearly needed some aftercare. She needed someone to hold her in his arms and soothe her, someone to make sure she hadn't been harmed.
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