by Logan Fox
Why didn’t anyone say anything? Silence pressed down around Pearl like a suffocating fog. She wanted to slide down in her chair with the weight of it. Hold her arms up over her head so it wouldn’t crush her.
Instead she watched, her hand trapped between Seth’s, her grip on the hood of her robe turning her knuckles white.
She watched as Jarred lashed down Tina’s waist. As the man hiked up the back of her dress, exposing that slip of filmy underwear every girl in the room wore. As he tugged this down to her knees.
From the lack of implements in his hands, Pearl figured he’d be spanking the girl. Somehow, the word didn’t do justice to what happened next. Spanking sounded so frivolous and naughty. It sounded like something you did when you were feeling mischievous and wanted a good giggle.
She’d started gripping Seth’s hand somewhere along the line; but he held her just as fiercely in return, their palms sweating against each other.
There were soft inhalations of breath — sounding pained, excited, anticipatory — all around her. Seth made a soft noise in the back of his throat every time Jarred’s hand came down on Tina’s red backside — red where hand print after hand print stained her pale skin.
When the man was done, when he was helping the girl into a sitting position, Pearl blinked in surprise. She glanced up at Seth, who was looking down at her with something approaching pride.
“You’re next, kitten.”
Jarred bent over Tina, hugged the girl to his chest, and murmured something inaudible into her ear. Tina sighed loudly, her body going limp in his arms.
Pearl’s heart began racing.
Seth released her hand, and she wiped her palm over the fur robe. It was still clammy, still quivering, when Tina slid off the altar and made her way down the steps. The girl hobbled slightly, her lips twisting as if she was undecided about whether the feeling was uncomfortable, sentimental, or pleasurable.
She gave Pearl another wave, this one almost embarrassed, and then smiled crookedly at her.
Pearl’s gaze swept back to Jarred.
He flicked his fingers at her, swiping his hand over the altar where he wanted her to sit.
Pearl swallowed, took a deep belly breath, and forced herself to her feet.
She climbed the steps reluctantly. Air solidified around her ankles, dragging at them, gravity suddenly having tripled.
Jarred’s black eyes gleamed. They weren’t a dark brown like Seth’s, but the black of a cave at midnight on a moonless night. And they were hungry. Eager. Insistent. He swiped his hand over the mattress again. Was she taking too long? Only one more step and she’d be there.
She managed to drag herself up without his help — briefly regretting that she hadn’t been able to feel that weightless sensation Tina must have felt when he’d hoisted her up — and swung her legs over the side. She had her back to the pews, and this confused her. Was she doing it wrong? Tina’d been facing the other way. Was he going to punish her for not—
But Jarred didn’t say anything. He didn’t correct her. Those dark hands reached for her, warm as they slid beneath the robe, caressing her shoulders as he slid her robe free.
He had his gaze fixed on her. And that gaze was heavy and warm, a palpable force that urged Pearl onto her stomach. He didn’t have to tell her to move forward: she’d seen where Tina’s hands had been and moved them closer so he could strap her down.
Would she fight him like Tina had?
Cool, stiff fabric glided over her wrists. He yanked the restraints tight, chafing her skin, and Pearl let her head sink down. She was facing out toward the pews. A blush crept onto her cheeks. Did she want to face everyone that made up her current world while Jarred slammed that massive hand of his over her ass?
But the decision wasn’t hers to make.
“Just like that,” Jarred murmured down to her. “You’re perfect… just like that.”
So she wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t twist her head away, facing him instead of the crowd. Perhaps she would close her eyes—
But then her gaze touched on Seth. And he smiled at her: a big, proud smile that made her stomach flutter and her heart slow from its frantic thump-thump.
She could do this. He knew she could.
Pearl shivered as Jarred hooked her ankles into the restraints. As he lashed that thick strap over her waist, pinning her down. So she wouldn’t move, like Tina had. So she wouldn’t try and escape, like Tina had.
So she wouldn’t let fear force its way inside her to dam up her rapture with uncertainty.
Cool air caressed her ass as he hoisted those layers of chiffon up to the small of her back. A surge of nervousness washed over Pearl. She twisted her hands, gripping the cords attached to her restraints.
Shit; hopefully those marble antlers could take a tug or two. She’d be in a world of trouble if she broke the statue.
She squirmed when Jarred tugged her panties down. Warm air brushed her thighs, quickly snatched away by the faintest of breezes.
“Surrender to the pain,” Jarred said above her.
His voice brought a stab of panic into her and Pearl squirmed again, testing the resistance of her bindings. Nope, she sure as heck wasn’t going anywhere. Her fingers tightened around the cords binding her wrists, and she squeezed her eyes closed.
But there wasn’t pain. Not yet, anyway.
Jarred took hold of a cheek in each hand and began massaging her. It was delicious. Intoxicating. Erotic. Pearl’s eyes fluttered open, skipping over Tanner’s fascinated expression, finding Seth and latching on.
He didn’t have the look of a doting parent anymore. Seth sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands meshed together. Almost nervous; one leg bouncing.
Why was he nervous?
Pearl’s stomach tightened, that flutter of before smashed to pieces as her muscles contracted.
Why was he nervous?
Jarred’s fingertips traced the contours of her cheeks, lingering in the curve where her ass met her thighs. Warm trickles of euphoria oozed into her at that touch. Pearl stifled a shudder and bit the inside of her lip. Why couldn’t it just be this? Massaging and stroking? Teasing? This was hedonistic bliss, seventh heaven on a stick.
Why did he have to—
A sharp smack to her ass obliterated the thought. Pearl gasped, tugging at her cords as her shoulders lifted from the altar.
A faint sting lingered on her cheek. It hadn’t been painful, just… unexpected. A shock you could quickly recover—
Another smack, this on her other cheek.
Oh dear God, she wasn’t going to like this, she fucking knew it. And worse, telling him now, yelling out that this was sore and she wasn’t into it wouldn’t help.
Because how did she know, if she’d never tried?
Another smack — back to the right cheek.
A last to her left.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands, applying a light pressure that spread the folds of her sex apart.
She was damp down there, but this no longer surprised her.
His thumbs slid down, burrowing between her legs.
Pearl stiffened. She hadn’t seen this happening to Tina. What the hell was he doing? It had looked like a nice massage, followed by some frantic spanking, not—
Those two fingers stroked the outline of her sex, drawing a shudder and a slow gasp from her.
And then a final, resounding slap to each cheek ended the session.
The session? Pearl exhaled slowly, her shoulders bunching. That wasn’t the session and she knew it. That had just been the warm up. She renewed her grip on those cords and waited, holding her breath.
“Embrace it, Pearl. Surrender and the pain will become pleasure.”
So she exhaled again, opened her eyes, and found Seth. And with his nervous, encouraging smile spurring her on, she willed herself to surrender.
It was shocking how painful it was; the flat of Jarred’s hand falling on her already stinging rump. Every slap resounded into her ass wit
h a dull thump, leaving behind a swathe of stinging, throbbing flesh.
Had he hit Tina this hard? It hadn’t looked like it, from the pews below. Yes, the girl had flinched and begun squirming a few blows in, but her attempts to free herself hadn’t convinced Pearl that she’d been in pain. Merely in some discomfort.
This hurt. It hurt like nothing Pearl had felt before.
She tried to surrender. She tried to embrace the pain.
But if you didn’t know how, was it any surprise if you failed?
Perhaps Jarred had begun to notice every gasping breath she inhaled when his hand connected with her. Perhaps he was just an expert in telling whether someone was in pain or pleasure.
Either way, he decided she needed some encouragement. So he paused that relentless onslaught of punishment — which Pearl had done nothing to deserve — and brushed his fingertips down her ass cheeks again, tickling her.
The sensitive skin responded with furious waves of heat, and Pearl shuddered. She dropped her head down, relieved that the pain had ended.
She’d known she wasn’t into it. She could have told him, if the motherfucker had bothered to ask. No, he had to make sure, hadn’t he? He had to—
A hand trailed down between her cheeks, stroking her sex.
Pearl’s head jolted up, her breath catching in her throat. What the hell?
That touch sent a rush of pleasure-thrills through her, making her shiver uncontrollably for several seconds after Jarred’s fingers left her.
And then his hand came down on her rump again, drawing a cry of surprise from her. Another, then another. He kept switching from cheek to cheek, barely waiting long enough for the heat of impact to fade before bringing another flash of fire to her skin.
The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room.
Soon, Pearl’s gasps almost matched it.
What had he done to her? Every impact still hurt — hurt more than she could imagine or describe — but the pain was swallowed almost instantaneously by a short, sharp burst of pleasure.
That thrill, that agony, became the center of her reality. Nothing existed outside of her stinging, throbbing flesh.
And when Jarred changed the tempo, hitting her harder, slower, Pearl’s grip on the cords tightened. Her back arched, her head lifting as she bit her lip and tried to understand what the hell was happening to her.
Vibrations travelled up her spine with every impact, numbing her, rousing her. She began to expect every blow, wanting it, hating it, wishing for it.
The whole while gasping, exhaling, gasping loud enough to hear herself. For the others to hear.
The others?
There was no one here but her. Her and the pleasure-pain. Her and her Master, the one providing that pleasure-pain in those huge, hulking bites on her ass.
And not just her ass: her Master would alternate from left cheek to right, then strike the back of her thighs, the crease between her thighs and ass. Those detours were the commas between a sentence filled with the same word over and over: thump thump thump thump, thump thump, thump thump thump.
She was dimly aware of how wet she was, how her sex was throbbing in time with her blazing skin.
Her gasps became moans.
Those moans transformed again into something deeper. A groan, a mewl, who the fuck knew?
Her arms hung limply now, her fingers wrapped around the branch of an antler, that marble cool and slick to the touch.
She went somewhere warm and deep. An unfamiliar yet comforting place. She floated, unseen and unseeing, in a black void. A womb. An egg. Her own, special den where she could curl up and exist without interference. A kind of wakeful sleep. An existence that had no place for fear. For shame. For thought.
“Give me a number, Pearl.”
The disembodied voice was soft but insistent.
A number?
Why?
She didn’t want to think about numbers. She just wanted to be here, in this place where nothing else—
“I need you to pick a number between one and ten, little blackbird.”
Numbers were hard. Numbers didn’t have anything to do with that thump-thump pleasure-pain keeping her in this space, in this den of solitude and comfort.
“Choose a number.”
A number?
She let out a long breathe, and found her tongue. Eventually figured out how to use it again.
“Five?” the word was less than a whisper.
“One,” came the almost immediate response. The number correlated with a deep, blissful thump.
“Two.”
Thump.
No! That was what the number was for? Why hadn’t she chosen ten?
“Three.”
Thump. A flash of pain.
“Four.”
Thump. Sparkling agony now.
Why hadn’t she chosen one?
Pearl clenched her muscles, bowing her head against the mattress.
“Five.”
A final, bone-vibrating thump.
Her body quivered and shook. From cold? No… it was more like an aftershock. Her muscles settling after that explosive session of blissful torture.
Jarred trailed his fingertips over her scorched flesh, drawing a fit of shivers from her. His hands travelled up her back to her neck, tangling in her hair, dragging her head back.
Pearl blinked, forced her eyes to focus. A blank wall, its only decoration a single, wavering candle. Wax dripped down the colorless concrete, forming soft stalactites at the bottom of the candle holder. That flame drew her eye, held it as it undulated from side to side; flickered, danced.
“Now come back, little blackbird. Come back to your Master.”
Oh God, but she didn’t want to. She moaned, squeezing her eyes closed, trying to hold onto that slippery, writhing warmth. That den that was solely hers, where no one would ever be allowed.
“Come back to me,” Jarred said. His voice vibrated through her and she shuddered again, helpless to resist his command.
So she clawed her way back, coming to terms with the fact that whatever had just happened — the hours she’d spent curled up in her little den — had ended.
Reality swarmed back into her mind: too loud, too bright. Pearl struggled against her bonds, wanting to curl into a ball, wanting to hide from the lights and the sounds and the whispers.
So many whispers.
Who were all those people?
Where was she?
Jarred’s hands — hot, dry — slid down her arms. Her restraints fell away, his fingers massaging life back into her numb wrists. Then her waist was released, her ankles. He massaged life back into them, too. He tugged something back up her legs — her underwear? — sliding it gently over the thrumming, throbbing flesh of her ass. Delicate chiffon tickled her tender skin as he settled her dress over her rump.
A pair of arms — warm and as strong as his hands — urged her onto her side. Scooped her up. Cradled her.
“I look forward to seeing you again, my little blackbird.”
“Thank you, Master,” Pearl managed with a wooden tongue. Her face was wet with tears, her lips dry, her nose running.
Her Master began setting her down, letting her soles touch the floor, but before she could tip her weight forward out of his arms, another set of arms caught her up.
With her vision still blurry — from tears — she only had smell to go on. But the feel of those arms under her was so familiar, she wouldn’t have needed Seth’s Marlboros and coffee scent to tell her who it was that now cradled her.
“—didn’t know she—”
Pearl blinked, trying to force her tears out, trying to see where all the ruckus was coming from. So many voices, chopped to bits as Seth plodded down the stairs, jarring her with every step.
“—thank you, Master. I will be—”
Her Master?
“—can try again, but I don’t—”
That voice she recognized. He’d told her to come back, to fly back to his nest. Her Ma
ster.
She was sobbing now. The pain had returned, licking at her like a hellhound’s fiery tongue. But it wasn’t the pain that squeezed those tears from her.
It was the release. A lifetime of anger and suppressed rage — evaporating. A hatred toward Fate and her twisted, devious ways — dissipating.
Pearl turned into Seth, gripping the lapels of his shirt, pressing her face into his beard and chest as she sobbed.
As she surrendered.
4
Pop Goes the Weasel!
Pearl woke with a jolt that made her wince as she sat up in sudden panic. Collapsing onto her side, she squeezed her lips together and ran a careful, exploratory hand over her ass. That careful brush with quivering fingertips was rewarded with a delicious, delicate quiver of pain.
The lights in her room were off. She could hear Gia breathing from across the room, sound asleep. Pearl wriggled off the bed, careful not to settle her weight on her ass before getting to her feet.
How long had she been out for?
She could remember Seth bringing her back to the den. Him drawing her a bath, throwing salt into it.
He’d gotten in with her, holding her in the water until she’d dozed off, making sure her tender rump never brushed the bottom of the bath.
He had to have brought her to her bed, dressed her, tucked her in, but she couldn’t remember anything. Had she been that fast asleep?
Pearl shuddered, shoving away the fading memory of a dream. Her Master had been in it, a black silhouette with two pinpricks of lights for eyes. And he’d wrapped her in night, urging her into a smaller and smaller ball until she’d collapsed in on herself.
She’d felt so safe.
Pearl shook her head, forcing reality back into her mind. There were no clocks in the room. None in the den, either. What time was it? How could she find out? Turning on the television might wake one of the girls, and she didn’t want anyone to witness her clandestine excursion.
Should she still attempt this? She hadn’t expected to be out of it for the whole day: what about her plans? It didn’t make sense to traipse about the Fox Pit in the dead of night without a plan. Without a sense of direction. It stank of foolishness… and adventure.