by Trent Evans
Shit.
“This”—he held it up— “is what’s going to help me ensure you remain the good girl I expect you to be while you’re a guest here.”
He crouched down in front of her, the position stretching the fabric of his warmups across the generous curve of his genitals.
Jesus Christ, Fal.
“Give me your hands.” He laid the mass of leather and chains down on the blue mat.
Not yet understanding what he had in mind, she obeyed, glancing at the menacing chains on the floor if for no other reason than to avoid staring at the bulge of his cock between his thick thighs.
“Good,” he said, releasing her hands from the wall chains, but leaving the cuffs affixed to her wrists. He glanced down at her tightly clenched thighs, patting one gently. “Before I let you up, let’s go over another rule.” Poking her leg with a single finger, he shook his head slowly. “That won’t be allowed. You will not close your legs in my presence. Ever. Do you understand me, Ms. Moore?”
Fresh heat surged across the cheeks of her face as the meaning of his words sunk in. “I—I don’t—”
“The proper response is ‘yes, Sir.’”
“But I’m… naked.”
Ford’s eyes flashed, his jaw firming.
“Sir,” she quickly added.
He grinned. “So you are. But the rule stands. Open them.”
Slowly, she did, each inch of flesh revealed to him making her face flame still hotter. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but he hadn’t seen her so completely bared to him before that moment. His gaze pointedly lowered, and she dropped her head, biting her lip hard, unable to watch him revel in the forced display of her charms to him.
“Very nice,” he finally said softly, standing up.
Falon covered her face with her hands, her blushing cheeks hot against her palms.
“You’ll get used to it, Ms. Moore. Now, up with you.”
She scrambled to her feet quickly, trying to ignore the shaming wobble and jiggling of her breasts. Just being on her feet again was pure heaven, her legs stiffening up from sitting so long upon the soft mound of cushions in her cell. Her buttocks were almost numb, which was a blessing, considering the painful state he’d left her backside in following her little appointment with his flogger.
“Turn around.”
“W-what? Why?”
Ford sighed, looking down. “I think we’ve been over this. Do what I say. Now.”
Shut up, Fal!
Dreading what might happen once she had her back to him, she faced the wall of her cell, his presence behind her making her legs start to tremble. Her instinct to fight, to run, to do something was strong, and yet, some part of her — a tiny part of her she wanted to strangle into oblivion — responded to the gruff way he handled her, the rumbled threat and promise of his words.
His big hand forced her against the wall, his palm pressing hard between her shoulder blades. She gasped as her breasts flattened against the cold, rough concrete. Not knowing what to do with her freed hands, she laid them against the wall, fighting the panic that threatened to overtake her.
He’s not going to hurt you. They know who you’re with. Remember the deal, Falon.
Still, she feared she’d be punished again for her little slip up. Not being able to speak her mind freely was perhaps the most difficult of all the trials she had to endure as part of the agreement.
But rather than more pain, his soft hand, so different from the one firmly pinning her in place, smoothed over the curve of her bottom, and she bit back a sigh. She had no business reacting that way to his touch, but react she did.
“Just a little pink here still — you’re already healing from your little punishment. Good.”
Trying to shrug it off as merely her surprise at not being spanked again, she attempted to push back against him.
“Don’t move. I like you right there,” he said calmly, his voice at her ear. His hand at her back pushed against her even harder, and she feared he’d squeeze the breath from her lungs, her nipples pebbling against the abrasive stone of the wall.
“You still don’t seem to understand one very important thing here, Ms. Moore. You’re not in control here. Not one bit. Do you understand now? And if I hear anything other than ‘yes, sir,’ your cute little ass is getting a spanking — before you get what you’ve already got coming to you.”
Falon closed her eyes. “Yes… sir.”
“Better.” His hand caressed her trembling buttock, his touch so gentle, she fought the sudden urge to push her hips back against him. He gave her a little squeeze, and she hissed, the pain of the flogging reawakening in her flesh.
“This is nothing, Ms. Moore.” He touched the other cheek, squeezing it even harder, her eyes flying open as she grit her teeth against the sting. “You’d better toughen up, girl. A sore bottom is going to be your lot for much of your time with me, I’m afraid. It’s up to you as to just how sore it’s going to be though.” He patted it with his broad palm. “Either way, as I said, you’ll get used to it.”
“I… please, Ford. Sir.”
“You can speak,” he murmured, his hand kneading and massaging her buttocks now. “Just remember what I expect.”
“I… what do you want me to do? I don’t know — how to act.”
It was a brutal, humiliating truth. In her fantasies, this was never a question. Everything flowed from one scene to the next, orgasms washing over her again and again. The pain in those fantasies was almost abstract, a spice adding flavor, depth.
Here, that pain was everything, and overwhelming — and she feared it even as she struggled with how her body reacted to the way Ford forced her to endure it. That part had never been in her fantasies. Yet her reaction, her visceral, instinctive — and troubling — arousal was as strong as it was shocking,
And she had no idea how to cope with it.
His hand finally let go of her bottomcheeks and she sighed in both relief and regret. It hurt, but it felt good too.
Or maybe it felt good because it hurt, hmm?
“All you need to worry about is doing as you’re told, Ms. Moore.”
“Then I won’t be… whipped?”
Ford’s chuckle sent chills down her spine, even as her belly fluttered down deep in her core.
“Absolutely nothing you do is going to save your round little bottom from being spanked. A lot. Best get that idea out of your head right now. A hot, red — and very sore — bottom will just be part of your lot in life here in White Valley. You obey, you submit, and you get spanked.” His hand eased between the cheeks of her ass then, the rough palm molding itself to the heated purse of her sex. “But if you’re a good girl, there’s more to look forward to. It’s all up to you. Behave, and you’ll get to find out.”
His lips pressed softly to her shoulder, and her pussy tightened beneath his touch.
“I don’t… understand. Any of this.”
A thick finger traced the length of her seam, then pushed between the soft, swollen labia, sliding up and down through the slickness already gathering there. Falon pressed her mouth against the concrete, unable to stop herself from hollowing her back ever so slightly.
No!
It was wrong, stupid, to cooperate with him like that, but her body seemed to be working on autopilot, on pure instinct.
“Part of you understands all of this very well indeed. Ms. Moore.” That same fingertip tapped gently against the swollen bud of her clit, and she whimpered against the concrete. “Now, before you start dripping all over my fingers, we have a few things to attend to.”
Ford spun her around and pulled her away from the wall. Retrieving the leather and chains from the floor he proceeded to fit the leather strap around her waist. “Don’t move,” he said quietly, as he cinched it tight. Two large steel rings, front and back, were embedded into the leather. The front ring, unused, hung down below the belt, the metal cold against the upper slope of her bare pubis. The ring at the rear featured two chains,
each subsequently attached to one of her wrist cuffs. He pulled the chains tight, drawing both her arms behind her back once more, Falon dropping her gaze in embarrassment as her breasts were again put on front-and-center display.
“There,” he said, stepping back. “I like that look on you.”
Taking hold of Falon’s upper arm in a tight grip, he walked her out of the cell. Being out from the confinement of the bars should have relieved her, but she had a feeling she was about to wish she were right back in the comparative safety of that enclosure.
Her heart sank as he led her directly over to the leather and wood bench she’d seen when he’d first brought her down to the basement. She’d read enough BDSM smut to know exactly what it was — a spanking bench. Dripping with straps and buckles, the dark leather seeming to pool the overhead light on its smooth surface, he pushed her right over, her breasts making contact with the cold surface first, making her shiver.
“You’ll warm it up soon enough,” he said with a chuckle, buckling her in tight.
Straps were drawn across her calves and thighs, then a very thick one was slapped down over her lower back, Ford taking great pains to ensure the chains from her arm restraints were pulled well clear first. As he cinched that broad strap down, Falon groaned, the pressure so tight, she felt like her pelvis had become one with the bench itself, utterly pinning her in place. She began to pant as he drew yet another strap across her upper back, her breasts ballooning out to each side under the merciless stricture.
“Poor girls,” Ford murmured as his wandering fingers traced the tight curves of the compressed globes.
Apparently satisfied with her level of immobilization, he adjusted something below the bench, and the entire apparatus tilted forward, dropping the upper half of her body toward the floor at a steep angle. The position made her groan again, the blood pounding at her ears. Ford adjusted the bench up a notch, and Falon silently rejoiced, the pressure in her head reduced. Still, she was jackknifed almost in half, her legs held straight behind her, the hamstrings taut and trembling under the strain.
Ford stroked her buttocks, his thumb rubbing lazy circles across her flesh. “Now, I think it’s time we address your smart mouth, Ms. Moore.”
Oh, no.
“Earlier, you not only failed to follow my directions when it came to addressing me properly, you had the gall to actually curse at me. Do you think I’ll tolerate either of those things from you while you’re my ward?”
Falon opened her mouth, but couldn’t seem to make words come out, the constriction of her upper body and her sudden dread momentarily short-circuiting the speech centers of her brain.
“I want an answer, Ms. Moore.”
“No… no, sir. I don’t think you’d… tolerate that.”
“Very good.” His fingers tightened upon her, squeezing the base of one helpless buttock. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to paddle this very cute bottom of yours until I think it’s the correct shade of red. I expect you’ll be crying pretty good by then, if I’m guessing right.”
“Ford… sir, please don’t. I’m sorry for—”
“Too late for that. But I want you to know something, Ms. Moore. After this is done? That’s it, the slate’s clean. So, once we’ve got your bottom good and hot, I’ll introduce you to your gag, and see if we can’t curb that sharp tongue of yours.”
Falon’s breath was coming so fast, she feared she was in danger of hyperventilating. Ford seemed to sense it too, for rather than start her punishment, he moved to her side, his hand stroking her back gently.
“It’s okay, girl. It’s gonna be fine. Just a little sting. Nothing you can’t handle, now.”
Soon, she’d calmed enough that he seemed to be satisfied it was safe to continue, cinching the strap over her lower back another brutal notch tighter.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, ashamed to admit such a thing to him — or anyone else, for that matter. Her complete lack of any control was both terrifying and exhilarating in a way that made zero logical sense.
There isn’t a whole lot that makes sense in this entire town, Falon.
“A little fear’s good for a girl, now and then,” Ford said, moving back behind her with a slap to her rear. “But you’re safe. Nothing worse than a very sore ass in your near future.”
She heard what she guessed was the armoire being opened again, but she didn’t have the courage to look back behind her to see what lay in store for her.
Even then, part of her still didn’t quite believe this was actually happening, that a dark scene right out of one of the more harrowing smut novels she read way too many of… was about to become a very real — and painful — experience.
Something very hard was pressed against the base of her bottom. She assumed it was the paddle, but it was so large and heavy, it felt more like a baseball bat — or a tree trunk.
“Oh, Jesus…” she whispered, the sound of her frantic voice only making her breath come faster.
“I think ten will do it for this first taste, Ms. Moore.”
The wood was pulled away, and she inhaled, holding it, not knowing why.
Then it slammed down, and her breath seemed to catch in her lungs for a moment, the sting bursting like an explosion of cold, before igniting into tingling fire. The varnished wood of the paddle seemed to stick to her skin for a split second, then it was gone and another stroke slapped down, higher across both cheeks, the impact shaking her whole body, the pain instantaneous now that her nerve endings understood how to interpret such a riot of incoming sensation. By the third, she groaned, the hot sting seeming to claw into her flesh in a way that made her want to somehow get away from it.
But she wasn’t going anywhere.
The entire surface of her bottom throbbed, and in her mind she picture a red balloon, inflating and deflating like a ridiculous cartoon, all of it in perfect time to the frantic beat of her heart.
The wood tapped lightly across the fullest part of her cheeks and she laid her cheek upon the leather of the bench, closing her eyes tight, the next stroke landing with a splat that echoed through the space. The fire flamed and Falon couldn’t help but cry out, the sound more one of surprise than hurt — though there was plenty of pain.
“I— please, that’s enough. I—”
But the next blow followed in quick succession, the merciless paddle starting to work over already martyred flesh, the deep ache overlaid by unbearable stinging.
“Halfway there, girl. You’re doing fine,” Ford said somewhere behind her.
“I can’t do this. It hurts!”
“I know it does,” he said, the wood already tapping against her, a new target being zeroed in upon. “You’ll remember this next time you think about using that acid tongue, won’t you?”
“Y-yes— owwww!” she yelled as another stroke blasted heat across her bottom. She tried with all her might to wiggle or bounce or… anything. But the cruel straps made her take all of it, feel all of it, not allowing her an inch of movement.
Two more strokes landed in a row, seemingly atop one another, the hot pain so searing it drew a strangled cry from deep inside her. Tears welled immediately, the hurt so overwhelming her resolve to be stoic through all of it crumbled in a heartbeat. How she wanted to rub her poor bottom!
“Oh God… this is…no more!”
Ford’s hand whisked over her bottom, testing her flesh here and there, Falon moaning out her sorrow as he squeezed a throbbing welt high atop her right buttock. “Good marks here. May have some bruising tomorrow.” The cold wood pressed to burning flesh. “Be strong for these last two, girl.”
Two of the most searing strokes yet snapped down, one across the base of each bottomcheek, stinging the tender flesh at the top of the thighs, her swollen, aching bottom cheeks shuddering with the impacts.
Falon shrieked at each one, the unexpected biting pain far worse than all the blows that had landed before them. Tears poured down her face then, and she began so cry, her
control finally succumbing to the pain.
“Shhh, that’s a girl,” Ford said, the weight of the heavy paddle laid across her lower back. “All done now.”
He caressed the stinging, molten heat of her buttocks, her flesh feeling swollen to twice its size, his palms cool and rough against now well-abraded skin. She didn’t know how many minutes she lay there, miserably weeping as her bottom ached and throbbed, Ford’s dexterous — and surprisingly tender — caresses slowly lowering the temperature, his fingers gently kneading and squeezing each cheek until the blazing heat became a tolerable simmer.
“Do you think you’ll be smarting off to me anymore?”
“N-no… sir.” She winced, more tears pouring down her cheeks, the pitiful squeak of her voice sounding more like a frightened girl than a grown woman.
“Good.” He cooed at her, laying the back of his big hand against her bottom. “Now, as beautiful as your round little bottom looks all red and swollen — and it does — I don’t want to have to paddle you like this again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” she said, almost yelling it.
“I’m glad. That’s all behind us then.” His voice was little more than a soothing murmur, so calm, the sound of it almost lulling her as his hands continued to massage and stroke her stinging flesh.
She shook her head at the notion that he’d break her down, that he could cause her to lose control. She was still determined that no matter what, she’d still fight him every step of the way.
He could never truly bend her will to his.
You really believe that now?
Fingertips touched the lips of her sex, and she froze.
He stroked the line of her labia slowly, her womb clenching when he gently pressed upon the hood of her clit, the betrayal of the letdown of her juices threatening to trickle moisture down her inner thigh.
No.
It felt like the ultimate defeat… even as it was an illicit, darkly fascinating, revelation to her. How could…?
Falon hated that he could play her reaction off against her, that he seemed to know — and understand — her body better than she did. How could that be?
Because this isn’t his first rodeo, you dummy.