by Livia Grant
Damn the asshole. He knew I fucking loved that.
“Yes, Master,” I said in a low voice, dropping my gaze.
My heart sped, a rapid pulse between my legs making me want to drop to my knees. I could already taste the silky head of his cock in my mouth. I licked my lips as he drew his hand over his cock, stroking himself through the fabric of his uniform.
Aw, fuck, I wanted that cock. I’d been BFFs with my vibrator for the past year, feigning sexual prowess to write my column, but too proud to warm anyone’s bed.
“You always did like to suck dick, didn’t you?”
“Only yours,” I snapped.
The asshole.
His eyes narrowed. “Never implied otherwise. Jesus, Baby,” he mocked. “You’re strung up tighter than a goddamned corset.”
I didn’t reply, as the only thing on the tip of my tongue was snark, and I’d promised I’d at least feign respect for now.
Part of me, humbled by the small trip over his knee, knew that… maybe he was right. I’d been a royal brat right out of high school. My parents had spoiled me rotten, and it wasn’t until I’d lost Brayden and several good, close friends to my own selfishness that I’d begun to see the error of my ways. And I was so wound up I gave myself tension headaches on a regular basis.
His eyes shuttered once more, then he wrapped his hand around the nightstick at his waist, unfastening it, but he frowned and placed the nightstick to the side.
“Gonna take you to the whipping post in a bit, Baby. Tomorrow, and every day after that for the next week, I want your ass to sting when you sit. I want you to feel your punishment, and remember who gave it to you.”
Shit. He was right. I would remember. How could I ever forget?
He led me away from the small, private curtained area and into the main room, his grip firm on my elbow.
“Bend over and place your hands flat on the seat of the chair,” he said, pointing with his stick to a sturdy wooden chair. My breath ragged, I walked to it and leaned over, placing my hands on the cool surface.
“Ass up.”
My stomach lurched as I arched my back and felt my skirt lift, cool air caressing my cheeks. I wore nothing but a thong, offering zero protection. The edge of the stick lifted my skirt higher, and I nearly squealed when the very tip grasped the edge of my panties, drawing them down.
“You’ll be bare for your punishment. Breaking the law is a serious infraction, met with severe consequences. You’ve earned a harsh punishment for your behavior. I’ll warm you up with my hand, then once you’re good and red, we’ll head to the whipping post.”
My hands shook on the chair hearing him say whipping post, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was both horny as hell and petrified all at once.
My only warning before he started was a large, warm hand at the small of my back, then his palm met its mark.
The smack of flesh on flesh hurt like hell, and I swallowed my scream of pain, focusing on my hands splayed out on the seat. The whip would hurt more.
Another harsh whack followed the first, then another. I couldn’t help but whimper a little. With every smack, something in my chest broke down just a little, but I didn’t understand what was happening.
This was a game. A little role play. I wasn’t in real trouble.
Then why did I feel like I was going to either laugh or cry?
Another hard spank followed. My ass screamed in pain, my skin aflame. I’d never experienced anything like this in my life. I shook, determined to take every single blow without wimping out.
He struck me harder. Still, I didn’t move, but maintained my position.
I heard the whoosh of his hand once more before it landed in the hardest smack he’d given me yet.
“I’m impressed,” he said. I couldn’t quite tell if this was Brayden the real guy or Officer Brayden speaking, so I didn’t respond. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Baby.”
And this time, the ‘baby’ didn’t sound like mockery.
I jumped as his hand met my ass, smoothing over the hot skin. “You took that better than I expected you would.” Slowly, as if waiting for my response, his palm circled the inflamed skin. “Stand up, Baby. You’ve been warmed up. It’s time for your whipping.”
Chapter 5
Brayden
I had no idea she could take a spanking like that. I’d smacked her hard, hoping to hear her whimper, needing her to break a little. I’d spent six years regretting how I’d let her control our marriage, maintaining the façade of perfection. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy spanking her ass.
For giving up, I thought, as I brought my hand down with a sharp smack.
For caring more about what your parents thought than your husband. Whap.
For blaming me for something I couldn’t control. Smack.
For not letting me love you.
And that was when I’d given her the sharpest smack yet.
I could tell something was shifting in her. She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes closed tight, she was prepared to take whatever I gave her.
Good. I hadn’t even warmed up.
But Christ, her response… the scent of her arousal made my dick harden, and I shifted uncomfortably in my pants.
I’d show her Master. I’d work her up good, then make her come till she screamed. Give her something to remember me by.
I, took her by the arm, and spun her around to face me. To my surprise, her eyes were filled with tears, which she quickly blinked away. Could it be that a little bit of pain, or the taste of submission, had broken her perfect control?
I pretended I didn’t see them.
I crossed my arms and shot her a stern look. “Pull your panties up.” She obeyed, her cheeks aflame, and I pointed to the main floor. “Now you’ll take your position by the whipping post.”
She trembled a bit and ducked her head, but did as I said, not looking anywhere but in front of her as she walked.
I eyed the arsenal of implements I had at my disposal. Though we’d rolled whipping and I’d teased her about it, she couldn’t handle a whip, a severe implement. Instead, I looked at the variety of floggers we had on hand that ranged from mild to serious and chose a soft one that would leave a sting and burn, but wouldn’t harm her. I lifted it and smacked my hand, needing to test it first. I struck my hand again and again, moderating each flick of the lashes so that I knew exactly how hard to swing it. When I was done, I realized she was staring at me, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped open.
I frowned at her and pointed to the post. “You remember we rolled bondage, Baby?”
She looked at the post and nodded.
“I’m gonna tie up your wrists and ankles, and I want you to lose the skirt and apron.”
Her body stiffened, and she shot me a look from the corner of her eye.
I gave her one back full of warning.
Careful, Baby. Talk back now and your ass is grass.
Her eyes never leaving mine, her fingers untied the apron, dropping it, and then found the zipper on her hip and slid it down, tauntingly slow, and as she slid down her skirt, I remembered. The feel of her creamy, silky skin beneath my fingers. The curve of her ass under my hand. The taste of her pussy.
I swallowed hard, her eyes challenging me, heating.
She remembered, too.
“Step out of it,” I rasped, and she immediately obeyed. When the skirt hit the floor, she bent, picked it and the apron up, and folded them, her crazy-ass perfection not allowing the clothing to be rumpled.
The move pissed me off.
“Toss them to me,” I ordered. She blinked in surprise, then instead of tossing them to me like I expected, she rolled both items into a ball, reared back as if to pitch, and whipped it at my head. My hand shot up and grabbed it just in time. She smirked.
“Smart move,” I said. “Give the man about to whip you attitude.”
Fear flicked in her eyes, which she quickly hid behind bravado, a jut of her chin and thinned li
ps showing me she might have changed some, but her pride was still intact.
I lifted one finger and beckoned, not uttering another word.
“And the top, Master?” she asked, a coy lilt in her voice.
I swallowed hard.
Hell.
“No. I like the look. Looks like you just stumbled outta my bed.”
She narrowed her eyes but kept coming. I pushed the handle of the flogger in my pocket. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, but she kept coming.
Good girl.
When she stood in front of me I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “You should’ve let me do this a long, long time ago.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled so sharply, her chest rose.
“Don’t take me out of the scene,” she hissed. “I’m here to scene, not rehash old memories.”
I reached for her soft, silky hair, and the second I touched her, my hand grasping the golden strands, I remembered what it felt like. Holding her. Smoothing my hand over her hair as we were going to bed. Della tucked up against me as we watched a movie. The feel of her hair was like a time capsule. I was a teenager again. A lovesick, stupid ass teenager who had a helluva lot to learn.
I wouldn’t have been ready for this. For the responsibility. The self-control.
Pissed my memories were assaulting me, I yanked her hair hard. Her eyes closed and she moaned a little.
Fuck, yeah.
“You like your hair pulled, Baby? Hmm?”
“Yeeesss.”
Noted.
“Not gonna take you outta the scene,” I whispered. I pulled a length of hemp out of my pocket I’d grabbed while she was changing, pushed her wrists together, and wove the rope around her wrists, tying them securely but safely. I’d learned from Owen, Black Light’s shibari expert, how to tie the knots just right.
Our moment of intimacy was over. Now it was showtime.
I pointed my flogger to the post. She looked first there, back to me, back to the post once more. She sucked in a breath, then walked with her head held high. The energy between us crackled. When she stood in front of it, I grasped her tied hands and lifted them, fixing the knot on a peg at the very top, high enough she’d be slightly uncomfortable but not so tight or too high it would hurt her. When her wrists were secure, I stood behind her and spread her legs apart, my fingers intentionally lingering between her thighs. She stood stock still. I took the opportunity to touch her, gently running my fingers up her inner thigh.
“I’m gonna touch you,” I said. “I wanna feel that sweet pussy before I whip you and feel you when I’m done. I wanna see how soaked you get after a whipping.”
She moaned, low and husky. Straddling her from behind, I pressed my hardened cock against her ass. “Wish I’d rolled anal on that fucking board,” I said. “Would love to fuck that pert ass of yours.” She whimpered a little.
“Can’t do anything that isn’t on the board?” she asked.
I chuckled. “Is that an invitation?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. I need to see how good you are with a whip first.”
Her skin already bright pink, she was well primed, and I could tell just from the way she arched her back, she was eager for this but still, I would not take things too far. A flogger could really hurt.
“Honest answer. Have you ever been to a BDSM club before?” I asked her, standing behind her and gripping the flogger in my hand.
She clenched her jaw and didn’t respond.
Really? I drew my hand back and flicked my wrist, the lashes hitting her squarely on her ass. She gasped, but still said nothing.
“You’re not supposed to talk to me. You’re supposed to scene,” she said through gritted teeth.
I felt anger rising, frustration making the second lash fall harder than the first. “Yeah? So sorry, Baby.” I whipped her again, harder, and still she did not speak. “I forgot we rolled Topping from the bottom on the kink board.”
Thwap. Another red mark, and this time she flinched a little.
“Oh, right. Topping from the bottom isn’t on the board. And if it was?” Another thwap. “That would have been a hard limit for me.”
I whipped her in silent earnest then, flicking my wrist first left, then right, over her naked thighs and ass, letting the leather fall along her back, but careful not to cause injury. I wanted her striped and aching but not injured.
I tucked the handle it into my waist, walking up to her to inspect my handiwork. I ran a finger along the edges of her striped skin, feeling the hot, raised flesh. She pushed against my hand, obviously liking the soothing feel of my touch after her flogging. I leaned in and whispered in her ear. “That was round one, Baby. I’m only warming up.”
Her eyes were closed but she was still stiff, her head held high and her lips thinned. I hadn’t moved her yet, hadn’t broken through. She took her whipping like a stoic.
Shocker.
I straddled her from behind, taking in the beautiful curves of the woman who once carried my name, carried my child, who’d once captured my heart. Though unresolved anger had pushed me to snap at her, a rush of memories I could not stop flooded my mind.
I promised her I wouldn’t take her out of the scene.
I never promised her I wouldn’t touch her. Hell, it was expected.
“Time to inspect you,” I whispered in her ear. I placed both hands on her hips and breathed against her ear. “Remember your safeword.”
“Not going to safeword,” she gritted out. “I don’t care how much you hurt me.”
“I’d never do that to you.”
To my surprise, her eyes still tight, she hissed. “You’d flay me with your words but not with your whip? You fucking asshole.”
Without another thought I grabbed her top, taking her clothed breasts in my hands and twisted them, hard, so that her mouth fell open and she winced. I tore at her blouse and opened it, pulling her breasts over the top of her bra and working her nipples between my fingers. I felt the eyes of those around us, but it only made my dick push against the zipper of my jeans. I shoved my flank against her ass and worked her breasts.
“Spanked you behind the curtains. Striped your ass. And still, you’ve got the audacity to mouth off to me?” I tweaked both nipples and she screamed, then moaned.
“Fuck you,” she growled, pulling away from me, but with my body pressed up against hers and her wrists on the post, she had no leverage.
I yanked her head back and crushed her mouth with mine. My body teemed with arousal when she moaned into my mouth, and her tongue clashed against mine, punishing her with the ferocity of my kiss. I pulled her body against mine, my hardened cock up against her hip, tugging her head back even harder, needing her to feel pain. I’d never kissed her like this. Finally, I released her swollen lips and brought my mouth to her ear.
“You want out, you fucking safeword.” I twisted her nipples again, kneading her breasts with my palms. I wanted to use her, objectify her, make her suffer. She whimpered and moaned.
“Another round with my flogger,” I growled in her ear.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’ll pay for your mouth, Baby.”
“Good,” she hissed. “I came here for a fucking session not a cuddle.”
I would not be baited.
I would not be fucking baited.
The handle still tucked into my waist, I moved to the side so she could see me. I rolled up first one sleeve, then the other, before I took my stance behind her, took out the flogger and snapped it against my hand. She jumped.
I grinned.
“Remember your fucking safeword.”
I reared back and let the flogger fall.
Chapter 6
Della
The folds of the flogger landed along the curve of my ass, but I took it. What he didn’t know was that I wanted him to hurt me, to make me feel pain, to punish me for everything I’d done.
He’d been a royal dick.
/> But I’d been a spoiled, selfish brat. And I wanted to pay.
I’d spent the last six years trying to make up for my failure, to make my life perfect.
Another stroke fell, then another. He was spanking me in earnest now and still, I needed harder, longer, more. I’d never experienced anything like it but had fantasized about being punished and objectified. I’d stroked myself to climax every night that week imagining being whipped in a crowded room full of people. I’d spent years of my life discovering the freedom of sexual exploration and fantasy, and it wasn’t until I’d researched fetish play that my nights became filled with the need to experience this.
My back ached, my breasts still burned from his torturing them, and still, I needed more.
God, he was a fucking expert with the flogger, never striking the same place in succession, painting every inch of me with lashes. My breasts swelled, my thighs dampened, my pussy soaked.
Harder, my mind begged. Punish me.
He said something, but I could hardly form a thought. I no longer dwelt in the past, in my shame and guilt. My only thought now was how badly I needed him to whip me. The world around me, the couples talking and moaning and striking, faded. The pain he gave me was my only focus. I pulled against my wrists bound tight, but I couldn’t move them, the restriction making my belly dip. My clit throbbed, and as I tugged a low moan filled my ears, and it wasn’t until another strike of his lash landed that I realized it was from me.
He built a rhythm, creating a cadence of pleasure and pain. This was nothing like my fantasies. This hurt. This burned. And yet somehow, I transcended the pain, my need to climax ramping with every stroke of his lash.
Punish me. Punish me. Punish me.
I begged, I pleaded, my mind a heated jumble of pain and guilt and pleasure.
He paused. The heavy fall of lashes ceased. Then I felt something soft stroke between my legs.
“You’ve earned this, Baby.” Again, it was a term of endearment and no longer a mockery. “Spread those legs.”
The lashes that fell now tickled but still left a sting, multiple little lashes falling at once, different than the other flogger, building, burning as he flogged me again and again. My mind blurred, the past and present warring but neither a focus as I could do nothing but feel.