"Forgive me, Master," she gasped again. "I shouldn't have lied."
He struck. She was flailing in her restraints, trying to get away even though there was no place to go. He had made sure that she could do nothing to avoid the blows. "And you won't ever do it again, will you?"
"No," she mumbled. The sound turned to a keening cry as the cane descended again, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
"No what?" he growled.
"No, Master!"
"Good girl," he said, and brought the cane down again.
The pain was agonizing. She thought of using her safeword, but she realized she didn't want to stop it. Not because she liked the pain—this was too extreme to like; it wasn't making her wet. But the pain was—oh god, he did it again—another stinging lash of fire, all of them in the same general area of her buttocks—the pain was a relief in a way. It blocked out everything. There was no fear, no guilt, no desire. All she knew was that sharp, burning sensation. She could let go of everything else because there wasn't room for more in her mind, not with this going on.
Again. She was screaming...and she let herself scream...she allowed the air to explode out of her lungs. Once, twice, and again, until all she could hear were the slashes of the cane and her own breathless cries.
Dimly, she recalled him saying that it was safe to strike the buttocks. She also realized that one reason she'd been so traumatized by Derek's attack was that he had struck her in places where he could do serious harm. Indeed, he had tried to kill her when he'd throttled her and cut her with that chunk of glass.
Stephen was not harming her. He was hurting her like hell, but there was no harm here.
The next blow felt even more painful than the others, perhaps because it slammed across the already-burning stripes of earlier welts. It made her lose it altogether. Her body convulsed and she began to sob. At first, she didn't even know she was sobbing. She was just reacting to the impacts. She moaned out her agony in great gasping cries, her face pressed into the mat that covered the whipping bench. But her mind was flying free. It was almost the same mental sensation she had felt when she'd fallen back off the deck into Stephen's arms.
She wept loudly and noisily, as tears flooded down her checks, just letting it go. Letting everything go.
It was some time before she noticed that Stephen had stopped striking her. He was massaging her shoulders and the back of her neck. Then he undid the restraints and raised her from the table. She felt a little dizzy and her legs didn't seem to want to hold her, but it didn't matter because he lifted her into his arms. He carried her gently to the bed in the alcove and lay down with her, adjusting her limp body so she was on her side instead of putting any weight on her flaming ass.
She made no resistance. She just clung to him and bawled.
It was the first time she'd cried since Derek had assaulted her.
Why hadn't she let herself cry?
It was a long time before she was able to speak. Stephen didn't seem to mind. He held her, his hands moving tenderly over her hair, her arms, her shoulders, her upper back. When the pain in her ass had settled into a dull roar and her tears had finally stopping flowing she asked, "Am I bleeding?"
"No. You'll have some bruises though. You might find it a little uncomfortable to sit down for a few hours."
"How did you know?"
"How did I know what?"
"That I needed a good cry. I haven't cried since that night." She found somehow that she could speak of it now. "Since the night Derek attacked me. I swore that bastard would never make me cry again."
"He didn't. This bastard did."
A surprised laugh burst out of her. It started as a smirk, then a chuckle, then it turned into a full-fledged shout of laughter. "Fuck you!" she cried, hugging him. "You are going to teach me how to do that safely and then I am going to return every goddamn stroke until you cry, too!"
"Well, hey. I'm not opposed to switching roles, maybe once in a blue moon or so."
"The whole punishment thing is messed up. Like who made you the adult here? I'm not some wayward kid whose behavior you can correct."
"Hah. I'm older than you, remember?"
She snorted. Her objection wasn't serious, though. She knew it was part of the D/s dynamic, and that somewhere there must be a hidden vein of psychological truth, because she sure as hell felt better.
"It's silly," he said, "but it works sometimes. I guess we all have a naughty little kid inside us, who knows he's done something he shouldn't have done and that one of these days the strap is gonna come crashing down."
"I almost safe-worded at one point."
"Yeah, I thought you might. I would have stopped."
"But then I decided, fuck you, I wasn't going to ask for mercy."
"No mercy here, babe." He put her hand on his erect dick. "Does that feel like mercy to you?"
"You got off on it."
"Guilty as charged. I was freaking out at the same time, though. I really don't want you to get scared of me and run."
"I'm not running."
"I'm not kidding about the truth telling, though. Don't lie to me again. There are more canes where that came from."
"Does anybody actually like being hit with that thing?"
"Sure. I could have propped a strong vibrator between your legs while I was doing it. That would have confused the hell out of you. Ow, it hurts. OMG, I'm coming. We'll try that sometime when you're an old pro at this stuff."
She chuckled again. "You are so twisted, Stephen."
"I know. I am going to fuck you now. I'll be sweet and let you lie on top of me to take some pressure off your tender bottom."
"How kind. I don't think I'll be able to come. I'm too sore." But even as she said this, she noticed that the burning in her ass seemed to be transforming into a more pleasurable feeling, as if the heat in her butt cheeks was spreading forward to engulf her genitals. She already knew how sensual her ass was, and how much she enjoyed spanking. Now that the extreme pain was subsiding, the rest of her seemed to be coming alive.
"Oh, you'll come for me, Professor," said Stephen, who clearly knew the physical effects she was feeling. "If you don't I'll just have to punish you again until you do."
But that, of course, proved to be entirely unnecessary.
Chapter 29
Viola completed teaching her last class of the spring semester, and ended up with a small group of students gathered around her, inquiring about term papers and the likely content of the final exam. She was chatting affably with her students, answering their questions and feeling generally more positive about teaching when she saw, in her peripheral vision, a tall, bespectacled male approaching her. Stephen's hands slid around her waist in a possessive gesture and drew her back against his body. "You smell wonderful" he whispered, his lips against her hair. "I need to get you home and fuck you. Hard."
She giggled and tried pull away. He held on. Her students also laughed as they watched, fascinated by this evidence of their professor's humanity.
"That's it," she said to the few who were left. "Email me if you have any more questions. See you at the exam."
There were a couple of good-natured groans as they filed out, leaving her alone with Stephen. She twisted around to kiss him. "Hello! I didn't expect you today. How's the novel going?"
"It's done."
"You finished it? Awesome! Good for you, Mr. Author man! So you're taking a bit of a break at last?"
"You got it, babe," he replied, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they left the classroom and walked down the hall to her office.
"You're in a merry mood, aren't you? Well, damn—I still have papers to read and an exam to prepare. A week or two from now when I'm free for the summer, you'll probably be hard at work on your next book."
He groaned with mock despair. "And never the twain shall meet? We're going to have to do something about this crazy schedule of ours."
"I know. It kinda sucks. You don't live that far away, but it's
far enough."
"I've missed you," he said, sidling up against her again and running his lips gently over the line where her hair met her forehead. "Better get me home in a hurry, mate, or I'll rip off your clothes and take you against a blackboard."
"Humph. I haven't seen a blackboard in decades. You're gonna get us arrested," she said, her lips curling in a smile.
They'd been spending the weekends together, and Viola hated Sunday evenings when they had to part. She wanted to stay with him, live with him, sleep every night in his arms, wake every morning to his warm, sexy grin. She hoped they'd be able to spend a lot more time together during her summer break.
She turned to him, handing him her briefcase to carry. For the first time in a couple of weeks, she noticed, there was a genuinely relaxed look about his eyes. He gave her an enormous grin. He was elated, she realized, and some of his gladness communicated itself to her. She made a mental promise not to do or say anything this weekend to spoil his sense of satisfaction at having finished his novel.
"You got everything?" he asked, opening the door.
"Yes, I think so. Let's go."
They were walking along one of the college's pleasant brick pathways when Jeff came around the side of a building with an armful of books.
"Hey," Stephen said as the two men moved together and punched each other's shoulders, which was, Viola gathered, one of those weird masculine affectionate gestures. "What the fuck is all that?" "You must be researching an entire era."
"Just returning stuff to the library. The usual 14th century stuff. You here for the weekend?"
"Nah. Taking Viola back to the Cape in the morning. Just finished my latest book. Gonna celebrate."
"Okay, well someday when you're not so intent on celebrating, you two should come over to my place for dinner."
"Done. Did you know you're being followed?" Stephen nodded to a blond chick, young enough to be a college student, who was loitering about thirty yards behind Jeff, sneaking glances at him.
Jeff rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I saw her. One of my advisees. She's a bit of a problem. I think she's after my bod."
Stephen took another look. "She looks familiar. Isn't she the one from the Christmas party? Julie Something? She's hot but way too young for you. Resist, dude."
"Have no fear. I don't do students."
"I hope he doesn't do students," Stephen said as they strolled away and Jeff continued on into the library. "He could get into deep shit for that."
"You know that girl?"
"I remember her from Jeff's last Christmas party. She was there with a singer friend who performed carols for us. She was trying real hard to snag Jeff's attention."
She poked him playfully in the ribs. "You have a good memory for some people's faces, I see."
"Ouch! I knew it—you're going to taunt me for the rest of our lives about my deplorable memory. But I'm remembering that girl for her tits, not her face."
Viola laughed, rolling her eyes. Men!
"Wait until you see what's happened to poor old Bart."
"You mean you're going to let me read it?"
"Only as long as you swoon with admiration. The moment you turn into a literary critic, I'll confiscate the manuscript and make you wait until the book comes out. "
"Have you got it with you?"
He patted his pocket. "On a data stick, yeah. I can upload an ebook version to your laptop."
"I'll read it as soon as we get home."
He grinned and moved a hand over her backbone as a reminder. "We have another little matter to take care of first, my love."
She returned his grin and his caress. "First things first, of course."
Several hours later, Viola was curled up on one of the easy chairs in her living room with Stephen's novel. She was clad in a short bathrobe, and her hair was a wild tangle from his passionate caresses. He was stretched out on the sofa in front of a blazing fire, which had been kindled less for warmth than for atmosphere. He was naked except for the pair of worn cutoffs he'd pulled on after they'd made love. He was drinking a glass of the wine she'd opened in celebration of his completion of his mystery, watching an old classic on television.
When she first began to read, Viola's attention kept wandering to memories of their bedroom antics. But soon the adventures of Bart Giles drew her in. There were some subtle changes in the offing this time around. For the first time in his eventful life, Bart was in love.
Not that he admitted it. But the state of his heart would be obvious to the reader.
The woman was a red-haired lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She had wit, beauty, and spirit, and Bart had been afraid that she would reject him if she learned about some of his more uncivilized activities in his inquisition chamber.
Viola couldn't guess how it was going to end. She was ready to be furious if Stephen killed off the woman. Surely Bart wouldn't torture her to death this time?
As she approached the final pages, she began to think that Stephen was going to allow his hero to keep his lover, maybe even to wed her. The villains were all dead or in the Tower, and Bart's love interest was still alive. In the final chapter, Bart awkwardly asked her to become his bride.
Viola impatiently flipped a page. The lady rejected Bart. She had heard rumors about dark doings in the Queen's dungeons that made her reluctant to pursue the relationship. Besides, Queen Elizabeth was intent on retaining her royal power by remaining unmarried, and Bart's lover had decided to emulate her wise example.
The book ended with Bart drinking in a tavern with his cronies and joking callously about the affair. "She was a whore like any other," he declared. But Viola knew—as every other reader would—that Bart was suffering.
She closed the file and looked over at Stephen. He was staring at the final long shot of Garbo as Queen Christina just as she learns that her lover is dead. She thought she heard him swallow rather loudly. Reaching for a tissue, she wiped her eyes, then tossed the box to him. "Are you crying?" she asked as the movie faded out.
He rolled his eyes derisively. "I thought you were reading my book, not watching my movie."
"I'm sniffling over your damn book," she admitted. "I feel sorry for Bart."
A slow grin lit his face. "You're kidding."
She got up and crossed the floor to the sofa, dropping to her knees on the floor beside him. The posture had become more familiar to her since they had started playing around with dominance and submission. "She didn't have to let him down so hard. She knew all along that he tortured people. Maybe she could have reformed him. Why don't you rewrite the end and let them marry?"
Stephen's fingers slid into her hair on either side of her face while his thumbs gently rubbed her temples. "What a romantic you are. Bart can't get married. My readers would never tolerate it. He's got to be free to rape more women in his next book." He paused. "You really liked it? No scathing review this time?"
"It's good! You saw how I fast ripped through it. I couldn't put it down. It's more realistic than your others, and less misogynistic. But it's not as if you've changed your style or anything. You've still got your brawls and your bloodbaths and your curses and blasphemy. But your art is more mellow this time."
"Heh." He pulled her down across his bare chest, massaging her shoulders through the terry-cloth robe. "You know whose fault it is, don't you? You're a dangerous influence."
She laughed and bent her head to kiss him. "I doubt that." From there her mouth moved down to one of his tiny nipples, which hardened just as her own did when stimulated. The feel of it tensing under her tongue sent a warm rush of desire through her.
"I love you, Bart," she whispered, as his hands swept her backbone more insistently.
"I'm not him," he said fiercely. He spread his legs enough to pull her in between them so her body was lying the length of his. His cock pressed against her. He undid the cloth belt at her waist and parted the V of her bathrobe at the collar until her bare breasts tumbled against his chest. "I'll prove it to you," he added,
his mouth administering a series of short, biting kisses to her lips and throat.
"How?"
He slid the robe off her shoulders and tossed it on the floor. She moved up slightly so her breasts hovered above his lips. When he tried to reach her with his tongue, she drew back just enough to make it impossible. He smiled, even as his breathing accelerated. "Oh, honey, you're gonna pay for that."
The pressure of his hand between her shoulder blades brought her down within his reach, and his mouth captured a nipple and sucked on it greedily. She shivered against him. He changed breasts, gently nipping the second tip with his teeth. She gasped and arched away. "No you don't," he drawled, pulling her back for more loving punishment. "Don't you dare pull away when I want to hurt you."
"Yes, Master," she smirked. "Whatever you say, Master."
He nipped her over and over until she was torn between trying to escape and surrendering herself for more torment. "So disrespectful," He murmured, his nails scoring her lightly, up and down her back.
"Brute. And you still claim you're not him?"
"There's a big difference between us, I assure you."
He expertly flipped her over so she was lying beneath him. She unzipped him and guided his shorts down over his hips, fondling him as she undressed him, reveling in his flat stomach, his hard-muscled thighs, his beautiful cock. When he straddled her shoulders and thrust into her mouth, she took him gladly, caressing his balls as she licked and sucked. He was always aggressive and dominant when she gave him head, fucking her mouth hard and thoroughly. But she loved it.
He didn't push it to climax, though. Pulling her face away from him by her hair, he chuckled and said, "Not quite yet, Professor."
He rolled off the sofa and knelt on the carpet with her body stretched out before him like a sensual feast. His fingertips moved over her so lightly that she wanted to scream. Arching her body, she tried to get him to deepen the caresses, but he persisted in the maddening, light stroking. "I'm going to make you beg for it."
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