Bound, Spanked and Loved: Fourteen Kinky Valentine's Day Stories

by Sierra Cartwright

  He pulled his length from my ass and turned me in his arms, holding me to his chest as he stroked my hair. The brush of his lips on my forehead warmed my insides. I felt treasured each time he kissed me there.

  “I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Luke.”

  “All is forgiven, little one.” He wiped away the last of my tears with his thumb. “Come. Let’s get cleaned up and spend the rest of the evening celebrating Valentine’s Day.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  About Sue Lyndon

  Sue Lyndon is the author of dozens of naughty spanking romances in a variety of genres, from contemporary to historical to fantasy. She's a #1 Amazon bestseller in multiple categories, including BDSM Erotica and Sci-Fi Erotica. She also writes non-bdsm sci-fi romance under the name Sue Mercury. When she's not busy working on her next book, you'll find her hanging out with her family, watching sci-fi movies, reading, or sneaking chocolate.

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  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to all the authors in this box set for writing such fabulous stories and for being so chill to work with. This was a super fun project!

  Another huge thank you to my editor, Kate Richards, as well as my awesome beta readers, Celeste Jones and Katherine Deane.

  Also, a special thank you to Renee Rose, for all your hard work planning the promo for this project.

  Rose’s Are Red by Ashe Barker

  Chapter One

  "Shit! I know him." I judder to a halt and stand rooted to the floor, staring at the tableau being played out on the other side of the dungeon.

  "What? Who?" Melanie, my friend and mentor in this latest endeavour of mine, crashes into my back. She peers around my shoulder to see what the hold-up is.

  I can appreciate her concern at the delay. Mel's more than a little anxious to find herself draped across a spanking bench enjoying the delicate touch of one Jerry Douglas, a Dom she's been considering playing with for weeks now. He gave her his mobile number and she finally got around to texting him to let him know she was interested. He agreed to scene with her, so here we are.

  I'm tagging along mainly to fulfil Mel's desire for an audience, though I confess the whole atmosphere and vibe of the Darkroom Club has me hooked. This is my third visit, and I love it here. Since I finally screwed up the courage and self-awareness to indulge my long-repressed desire to experiment with a dose of kink in my life, I've sampled the delights of two or three clubs in the area. This one is the best, by far. The music upstairs in the club area is thumpy enough to create the buzz, but doesn't drown conversation. And they serve alcohol. Not a lot, no one gets stupid, but you can get your hands on a decent glass of chardonnay.

  Down here, on the lower ground floor, the dungeon is nicely lit: not so dim I fall over my feet but the ambiance is still soft, warm, very sexy. There's plenty of equipment, and I've found something new each time I visited. My favourite toy so far has been the St Andrew's cross, but I intend to make it my business to have a go at everything. Well, almost everything – the inverted cross might take some working up to.

  And therein lies my problem. I don't have time. My new job starts in just over three weeks. It's in New York. Exciting stuff, a brilliant career move for me, and I don't doubt they'll have equally exciting fetish clubs in the Big Apple for me to get my kink on. But I won't have Mel there to ride shotgun, and I expect to be fiendishly busy for the first few weeks, at least. Kinky sex will be taking a backseat to sheer hard graft, so I'm determined to have a good time while I'm still in the UK.

  The Darkroom is a sure bet for a good time. There are usually a couple of unattached Doms in the dungeon, no doubt planted there by the club management, so a decent spanking can be relied upon. That's great for submissives like me, who don't have a regular Dom and tend to come alone, or with another subbie friend. That's my plan for the evening. After I've satisfied Mel's exhibitionist urges, I'm going to seek out someone I like the look of and request a play session of my own. It's a system that works for me. I always select a Dom who doesn't have a submissive with him and who isn't obviously occupied, and I've yet to be turned down.

  A not especially gentle punch to the back of my shoulder gets my attention. Mel hisses in my ear, "Who are you looking at? Where?"

  "Him, over there. The tall Dom, blond-haired guy wearing jeans and a white T-shirt."

  "Ah, right. That's Iain McCain. He's looking mighty fine tonight, I grant you. Have you scened with him somewhere else, then? Lucky cow."

  "No, not scened. I know him in real life."

  Mel gives an unladylike snort. "I don’t know about you, Rose, but last time I checked this was real life."

  "You know what I mean, outside the lifestyle."

  "Right, so?"

  "He was my form tutor in year eleven. Mr McCain. Sir."

  Mel lets out a low whistle. "Sir's about right. Shit, did he ever, you know?"

  This time it's my turn to nudge her in the ribs. "No! Did he fuck. Never so much as a hint. He was a teacher, for Christ's sake."

  "Yeah, well, you hear all sorts of stories."

  "Not about Mr McCain. He was lovely. God, I had a monster crush on him when I was fifteen. Now I know why."

  Mel grins at me. "Was he strict? I bet he was."

  "No, he wasn't, not really. You didn't mess with him though. But he was nice. Well, I always thought so."

  Mel runs her gaze over the object of my fascination, her expression betraying her appreciation. I can't say I blame her, though I'm minded to point out that I did see him first. And she already has her entertainment for tonight sorted. That doesn't stop her from passing comment, though.

  "He still is nice. Check out that T shirt. Those muscles didn't come from handing out pencils."

  "He taught IT, they don't use pencils. And you can stop leering, you've got yours lined up for tonight."

  "Rose Hawkins, you do have designs of your own on Mr McCain. Pity, he looks to be a bit busy right now."

  He does indeed. He's administering a more than decent paddling to a submissive he has dangling from the ceiling.

  "Don't be ridiculous. That'd be just weird. He was my teacher."

  "I don't see why. You're not at school now."

  "Well, I don't have any designs on him. It was just a surprise, to see him here, that's all. After all this time." I pause, still staring at my old teacher. "He hasn't changed a bit."

  "I bet you have. He probably wouldn't recognise you in your fetish gear. Wait until he's finished with Maria, then make a move. He can only say no."

  "Maria? Is that what she's called?" I cast a jaundiced eye over the undeniably pretty submissive.

  Mel nods. "Yup. That's her regular Dom standing behind them. They're married, but Maria likes to scene with other Doms and he enjoys watching. Her Master'll probably handle the aftercare, so you could nip in there."

  My tone is sharper than I intend. "And you could keep your nose out. Don't you have somewhere you need to be?"

  Mel grins at me, not fooled for a moment. She shrugs. "Just saying. But since you mention it, have you seen Jerry anywhere? He should be here by now." She starts craning her neck, peering around the place.

  I'm the first to spot her Dom for the evening, lounging against the far wall. I give her a nudge. "Over there. Looks like he's got everything ready for you." Jerry has commandeered a spanking bench, and alongside it he has several implements arranged on a portable trolley. Like most Doms, he has his own collection of stuff he likes to use

  "Right, thanks. Come on then, I don't want to keep him waiting. Well, not any longer than I have already. I heard he has a heavy hand and my bottom will get the brunt of it if I piss him off."

  Privately I'm of the view that that was her plan all along, but I say nothing. I catch one last glimpse of the scene playing out across the dungeon before Mel hooks her arm through mine and tugs me across the room to greet her top for tonight. I make polite conversation for a few minutes t
hen retreat to a discreet distance to leave them to negotiate the finer points of the evening's entertainment. It gives me another chance to survey the continuing activities of my old form tutor.

  His submissive–Maria–is suspended from a ring attached to a solid metal beam running the length of the dungeon. Her wrists are secured in cuffs, and she is stretched up onto her toes. She wears only a thong, and her collar, plainly visible beneath her cap of short cropped hair. Her back is bare, and even in the subdued illumination, I can see she's been thoroughly worked over with a flogger. Her bottom is a much darker shade, and bears the distinctive curved marks left by a paddle. She has her back to me, but I wouldn't mind betting her nipples are clamped.

  As I watch, Mr McCain slowly circles her. He has a belt in his hand, looped, the buckle secure within his fist. He stops, leans in to say something to her. A frown flickers across his face. He takes a handful of her hair and turns her head toward him. He speaks to her again, this time forcing her to meet his eyes. He waits, she answers. He glances over his shoulder at Maria's Dom, beckons him forward. The two men speak briefly, then Mr McCain returns his attention to Maria. More words are exchanged before he once more takes up his position behind her. He drapes the belt across her shoulders, drawing the supple leather over her skin, then down her back. He uses the palm of his hand to caress her reddened bottom, and Maria flinches as he presses her sensitised flesh. Then he steps back, swings the belt, and lands it hard across both buttocks.

  Maria's cry is soft. I would miss it entirely were it not for the fact I'm watching, listening, concentrating. Her Dom moves in close in front of her, and as Mr McCain steps back, her regular Master slides his hand under the thong. He cups her chin in his hand as he finger-fucks her. Moments later he is done, backing off and signalling Mr McCain to take over once more.

  He does. The belt arcs through the air again, this time landing with a resounding crack across that sweet spot where leg meets bottom. Maria jerks hard, then continues to shudder as she dangles from the restraints. Mr McCain's lips move. Across the room I can make out the one word.

  "Again?"

  Maria gives a brief, desperate nod.

  Mr McCain flexes his arm and delivers the required stroke. Maria lets out a strangled cry and her body convulses. Her Dom is on it, his arm around her waist to hold her still as he pushes the flimsy fabric of the thong aside. This time there is no let-up. I watch as Maria's orgasm ripples through her, her Master drawing it out with his fingers, his lips, and his words. He is murmuring to her, kissing her hair, nuzzling her neck.

  Mr McCain stands apart from the couple, allowing them this moment. Then, as Maria's wild shivers subside, he approaches and reaches for the cuffs. He releases her, and she crumples into her Dom's arms.

  Again the two men exchange a few words. Mr McCain bends to talk to Maria, then kisses her on the forehead. He smiles at the pair of them, then turns his back to me as he starts to gather up his stuff.

  His movements are fast, efficient. I could watch him all day, but I tear my attention away to do proper justice to Mel's performance with Jerry. Whilst I've been watching the scene across the dungeon, he has secured my friend to the spanking bench and is now dropping light, rapid smacks onto her upturned bottom. Her skin is pinking up beautifully and her rapid, breathy sounds suggest things are going well. I wallow in vicarious pleasure as I shift my weight from one stiletto-encased foot to the other, wishing my leather shorts were perhaps a little less tight, my corset slightly more forgiving. This is going to be a long, horny evening.

  "But what if he doesn't go to the club at all in the next week?" I stir my coffee and glare at Mel across the smooth, gleaming table. We often share a McDonalds breakfast at the weekend, and this Saturday morning is no exception

  She shrugs and takes a bite out of her hash brown. "He probably will. He's there fairly often."

  "Like, every Wednesday? Or at weekends? Does he have a regular pattern?"

  "Well, no, but..."

  "But, knowing my luck, I'll probably miss him. I fly to New York in exactly eight days and, once I leave, it'll be months before I'm back in the UK, probably not until the summer at the earliest. I can't wait till then."

  "You could hang out at the Darkroom every night from now until you go. Chances are he'll show up." I notice she doesn't try to suggest I could, in fact, wait. Mel appreciates the urgency of my predicament.

  I've haunted the Darkroom most evenings for the last two weeks, hoping to catch a glimpse of my old form tutor. Any awkwardness I might have initially felt – given our previous acquaintance – has evaporated. Mel's right: that was ten years ago and he's no longer my teacher. These days, all that matters to me is that he's one seriously hot Dom with a reputation for delivering a hard spanking. I know: I've asked around. And I want some of that before I leave.

  "Are you certain he doesn't have a sub already?" I may be desperate, but I have principles.

  "No, not that I've ever seen. I've been going to the Darkroom for over a year now and I've seen him there a lot, but always with different partners. He likes to play, he's popular but there's no one regular."

  I stare into my latte. "Even if I do see him, I can’t just march up and request a spanking. He'd say no. He doesn't know me from Adam." I conveniently manage to forget that, up until now, no one has turned me down. Why should Mr McCain be the first?

  "He might agree, if you ask nicely. You'll never know if you don't try."

  "How can I try?" I wail. "He's never there."

  "Well, there is another approach. I wouldn't normally suggest it, but since you're running out of options..."

  "What?"

  "If the mountain won't go to Mahomet..."

  "Mountain? Mahomet? Mel, you're talking in riddles, and my brain's frazzled enough already."

  "Go and find him. Go to his house."

  "You're joking. I couldn't do that. It'd be rude, and—"

  "Yes, and dangerous, all alone with a strange Dom. But you do know him, sort of. He’s not a total stranger. And we know he's okay, because everyone says so. It might be your only option. Last chance saloon and all that."

  She's right, and I'm ready to try anything. But there's one major flaw in Mel's plan. "I don't know where he lives!"

  "Ah, but Jerry does. He picks him up every Sunday morning and they play squash. I'll wheedle the information out of him, somehow."

  I stare at her, mesmerised. It might be possible. It just might work.

  "But, suppose Jerry does tell you, and I do just show up on his doorstep. What would I say?"

  "I’ve been giving that some thought, too. See how diligent I am on your behalf? It’s Valentine’s Day this weekend. You could give him a card: personal delivery.”

  “A Valentine’s card?” I need to check, not sure I’m following this.

  She nods, her expression smug. “How’s this for an opening line? Here's a Valentine’s card, Sir. Please spank me, and fuck me." She hesitates, "You did want him to fuck you, as well, didn't you?" She shoves the last of her hash brown into her mouth and chews on it as she contemplates my wide-eyed gaze.

  Do I? Want him to fuck me, that is? I suppose I do. Yes, I definitely do.

  "Valentine's card? I don't do hearts and flowers and I'm bloody sure he won't."

  "He might, if it's the right card. It's only the tenth today. If you get a shift on, you've time to buy a special BDSM-themed card online and you could take it round to him on Valentine's Day. It'd be an ice breaker."

  "BDSM-themed? Do they actually sell those?"

  "Oh, yes. Hand me your phone."

  Moments later, she has found a website for me which advertises all manner of bondage and spanking cards, perfect for my little project. I look from the tiny screen to Mel's excited face. She's warming to the plan almost as fast as I am.

  "Right, when are you seeing Jerry next?"

  "I'll text him now."

  "He lives close to the town centre, in an apartment over a bookshop." Mel announces h
er findings almost before she has sat down in my mother's tiny kitchen.

  I shush her. My mum is watching television in the next room, and I see no benefit in involving her in this plan. I gave notice on my own flat when I landed the New York job, and I'm just camping out here for the remaining few days. Privacy is at a premium right now.

  Mel grins, unabashed. "Apparently he owns the property, rents out the shop downstairs and has a loft apartment or something of the sort above it. Sounds very trendy. Handy for the station, too."

  "Why would he need the station?" I whisper, hoping she'll take the hint and lower her voice.

  She does, slightly. "Jerry says your Mr McCain is no longer a teacher. He has an IT firm now, and he’s doing very nicely, I gather. He travels a lot."

  "Right. I see."

  I'm sort of relieved he's no longer in the education business, though I can't exactly pin down why. It just seems better, somehow. "What bookshop? Do you have an address?"

  "I do." She digs in her pocket and pulls out a sheet of notepaper. "Here. Now all you need to do is show up. Did you get a card?"

  "Sure did, but I'll show you it later." I glance toward the door connecting the kitchen to my mum's tiny sitting room. "Right, my flight is the day after tomorrow so that means it's either tonight or tomorrow..."

  "Tonight's a no go. According to Jerry, there's a stag do on and your guy is going. So is Jerry."

  "Tomorrow, then. Saturday."

  "Great. And don't leave it too late – he might have plans to go out."

  "If he's going to the club anyway, I might as well have not bothered with all this."

  "But what if he isn't? Last chance, remember. You need to make certain, and this is how."

  "I suppose so." I give a little shiver, nerves already starting to catch up with me now that the scheme is taking shape. "So, a bookstore. Maybe I'll check the place out in the morning. I could do with some new reading matter, for the plane."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  It does indeed.