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

by Sierra Cartwright

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Did she have this sort of situation in mind? I doubt that, somehow. I open the bedroom door and slip through.

  Iain McCain's inner sanctum is large, and as I might have expected, the huge bed dominates from the centre of the room. The spanking bench is also prominent, occupying the open space at the foot of the bed. Against one wall is a low chest of drawers, the entire top covered in an array of spanking implements and other toys. I am familiar with most – floggers, a couple of tawses, paddles, a selection of canes of varying lengths and weights. There are also nipple clamps, butt plugs, a vibrator and, If I'm not mistaken, a violet wand. Now I understand why he was so keen to know if I was pregnant or had a heart condition. I've never experienced the sensation, but I gather it can be intense. Will he use it on me? There are so many items here that he can't possibly intend to use everything. Or can he?

  I should have told him I don't fancy nipple clamps. Is it too late now? I hug my arms across my chest in a defensive gesture and consider adding to my list of hard limits. Maybe I should leave the nipple clamps in the possibles group and see how it goes. One thing is for certain – if I'm about to start experimenting, I'd rather do it with Iain McCain than any other Dom I've met so far. I unwrap my arms and loosen the tie belt on the borrowed dressing gown. Mr McCain didn't actually give me instructions on how and where to wait, but I know what I want to do. I slip the robe off and fold it, before placing it on a chair. Then, naked, I walk over to the bench and sink to my knees beside it.

  I lower my head, part my knees and lay my hands palms up on my thighs. I am ready.

  Iain McCain is true to his word, he doesn't keep me waiting long. The gentle click of the door closing behind him signals his entry into the bedroom. My back is to the door, but I follow his soft footfalls as he moves around the room behind me. The atmosphere changes, seems charged somehow with his presence. I am tingling, shivering with anticipation.

  I know when he approaches me, I can sense him, right behind me. I lift my head when he lays his hand across my hair. My eyes are closed. He strokes my hair, then closes his fist around a handful of it. He tugs my head back and around to face him as he crouches beside me.

  "Look at me, Rose." His voice is not harsh, but I know I must obey.

  I open my eyes. His face is close to mine, his own eyes a deep blue, more intent than before, and his handsome features hardened into that Dom mask I recognise. I should be scared. Incredibly, the more controlling he becomes the safer I feel.

  "Sir?"

  He breaks our connection to peruse my naked body, then captures my gaze again. "You're beautiful, little sub."

  "So are you, Sir."

  He smiles. "You think so now. I may be able to cure you of that. I'm going to start by clamping your nipples."

  My reservations of just moments ago evaporate. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

  "Put your hands behind your head."

  I lift my arms and do as he tells me. He strides across to the chest of drawers where he picks up a pair of clamps, then returns to stand in front of me. He opens his hand before my face to allow me to study the delicate-looking tweezer clamps, then he slips them into his jeans pocket.

  "Stand up, Rose, and keep still."

  It's not so easy to comply with my hands positioned as they are but I manage to get to my feet. I know what to expect. He will squeeze and twist my nipples to make them erect, hard as pebbles, then he'll apply the clamps. This will hurt. It's my first test.

  "Look at me while I do this. Don't look away, don't lower your eyes, or close them. I have no near neighbours so no one will be disturbed. You can be as vocal as you please. Do not suffer in silence, I expect you to let me know how you are feeling."

  "Yes, Sir," I whisper.

  He takes each of my nipples between his fingers and thumbs and tightens his grip, He tugs, and I step toward him.

  "Did I tell you to move?"

  "No, Sir. I apologise."

  "No, indeed. I distinctly instructed you to keep still. I expect you to obey."

  "I'm sorry. I will, Sir."

  "We'll try again then. Remember, you have safe words if you need them."

  I gnaw on my lower lip as he takes my nipples in his harsh grip again and goes to work. He compresses the tender buds between his fingers and thumbs until I can't contain my squeal of pain. Only then does he stop ramping up the pressure, though he does not reduce it one jot. He twists, tugs, tortures the swollen peaks as I yelp and whimper in pain. The entire time his gaze is locked on mine, his eyes searching for - what?

  It's too much. I open my mouth to utter yellow, though it might come out as red. But, without warning, he stops.

  "Enough. You'll do." He retrieves the clamps from his pocket and slides one around my left nipple. He adjusts the fit, sliding the small bead up the device until I cry out again. He loosens it, just very slightly. The second clamp is applied just as efficiently. He stands back to admire his work.

  "Very pretty. They match your beautiful emerald eyes. Look." He gestures to a full length mirror away to my right.

  I turn my head, then angle my body to see. I have to agree: despite the biting grip of the clamps, they really are lovely to look at, decorated with green jewels which dangle and catch the light.

  "Do you like them?"

  "They hurt like hell."

  "I know that. But do you like them?"

  "Yes Sir." And it's true. Incredible as it seems, especially to me, I do like them. The pain is exquisite, already causing me to writhe and arch my back, presenting my breasts to him for further torture, or whatever he might decide to do.

  "Lie along the bench, and press your breasts into the top."

  I groan. He really is a Master, arranging me so I'll cause my own pain. I don't hesitate, though. The top of the bench is padded with soft suede. It's warm against my skin, would be comfortable, even, but for my swollen, taut nipples. It's high and I have to stretch to reach.

  "Could you lower it a little?"

  "No. This is the right height. For me."

  "For you? But, I—"

  "For me to fuck you."

  Ah, right. I settle my weight and stifle my moans. This is all about sensation, and about handing over control. Iain McCain knows his stuff.

  "I've decided not to strap you in place, unless you really want me to. You'll be there for a while and I don't want you getting cramp half way through. Okay?" His tone is curt and matter of fact as he circles the bench, inspecting me from all sides.

  "Yes, I think so. Am I allowed to move, then?"

  "Within reason, yes. But your breasts stay pressed into the bench. If the sensation in your nipples deadens tell me. I'll tighten the clamps or remove them. Either will hurt."

  "I see, Sir."

  His palm is on my bottom, massaging each cheek in turn. He parts the globes to trail his fingertips down the crevice between them. He stops at my arsehole and traces slow, leisurely circles around it. "We'll start with a hand spanking, then move on to sample some of my favourites here. First, though, I want you to accept a butt plug. Is that all right with you?"

  "I've never had a butt plug inside me before, Sir. It may be a bit much..."

  "Let me be the judge of that. What about anal play? Have you experience of that?" He presses the tip of his finger against my rear hole, experimenting.

  "Yes, Sir, a little." I try to relax. I know it's better that way, easier.

  "This should be straightforward enough, then." He drops a light spank onto my bottom before going back over to the chest of drawers. I turn my head to follow him, and watch as he picks up a metal butt plug: one of the smaller ones, I seem to recall, and a pump container of lube. He smiles at me then returns to stand behind me. There's a distinct squelch as he pumps lube into his palm. I gasp as the cool liquid hits my bottom. He parts my buttocks again to have clear access to my arsehole, and he works some lube in there. It doesn't hurt: in fact, it feels pleasant. This is the first really intima
te touch he has bestowed on me. I don't count the nipple squeezing as that was more functional, a means to an end, and so far I have no complaints. I let out a contented sigh as he slides first one finger, then two, right inside my arse. He withdraws, then drives them home again. He repeats the action as my muscles relax to permit the act of trespass. To welcome it.

  He pulls his fingers out. I shudder as the blunt, cool end of the butt plug replaces them. He presses, and it starts to penetrate me. He leans over to murmur in my ear.

  "Push back against it, as I press. Relax, Rose, let it in."

  "Yes Sir, I... Aagh!" It's the work of just seconds, and the plug slides home. The length of it remaining on the outside is angled, and as I squeeze down around the strange intruder, Iain rotates it inside me. He's gentle, but still the effect is intense and unexpected, pressing against my inner walls in a sensuous, circular motion. "Oh, oh, God."

  "Liking that?"

  "Yes. Yes, Sir, definitely liking that."

  "Good." He continues to turn the butt plug, the sensation building.

  I spread my legs, though he hasn't asked me to. It's just instinct, and need. I grip the arm rests on the bench and try to rub my clit against the buttery suede. A sharp slap across my bottom stops that little ploy.

  "I'll get to your clit when I'm ready. No cheating." His tone is harsh, he sounds displeased, and that crushes me.

  "I'm sorry Sir. I won't... Oh!" He plunges two fingers deep into my pussy. I find it impossible to string any further coherent words together. He finger-fucks me hard, his hand angling to find my G-spot. I jerk as he locates it, and he rubs. Just there. Moments later I unravel as my first orgasm shimmers and ripples to the surface, taking my breath away. It's not a major one, I know there are more powerful climaxes in store, but that first, tender release sort of paves the way, demonstrates that he can and will meet my needs, if I just trust him.

  As I stop trembling he withdraws his clever fingers and steps to one side.

  "I've yet to meet a submissive who could count much beyond about five, but you're welcome to try. Six slaps, then the same with the paddle. After that I reckon you'll be about ready to come again. We'll see, shall we?"

  I can only nod. Earlier he would have insisted on the words but the gesture is enough this time.

  One. Two. Three.

  Despite Iain McCain's doubts on the matter, I manage to count the slaps perfectly well. He drops them on each cheek in turn, and never in the same place twice. The first four are fairly light, but the last two, right on my sit spots, are harder and bring me up onto my toes.

  "Aagh! Christ, Sir, that hurts."

  "It's meant to. Now we'll find out how you respond to a decent paddling. Ready?"

  "Yes, I think so, Sir." Probably.

  He stalks over to the chest and returns with a large paddle, shaped like a table tennis bat. I clench, expecting to feel its bite immediately. The butt plug feels huge inside me, filling me. Iain takes hold of the finger grip and revolves it several times more, re-awakening the sensation and sending jolts of ecstasy straight to my clit.

  "Oh, Sir..." I writhe on the bench, desperate for him to touch me again. There's a faint whistle as he swings the paddle, then a harsh crack as it connects with the skin of my bottom. I let out a shriek.

  "One." His tone is clipped and cool, and utterly sexy.

  I tense, my bottom clenching around the plug as he swings again. "Two." And again. "Three."

  "Sir, Sir..." I'm moaning, grasping at the bench, wriggling my body against it. The clamps no longer hurt, the pain obliterated by the other sensations now bombarding me.

  "Four. Five." He shifts his stance. "Lift your bottom up a little more. I want this last one to sting."

  I do as he says, presenting my vulnerable sweet spot for one last spank.

  "Six."

  My lower left cheek takes the full force of the stroke. I come up on my toes again, letting out a shrill scream. "Oh God, Sir. Christ..."

  He chuckles, the bastard. "Just Sir is fine. Spread your legs a little more, subbie."

  I do, but there's something else. Something more. My brain is fuzzy, my thinking distorted, but I know he said there was something I should do. Should tell him. "The nipple clamps Sir."

  "Yes? What about them?"

  "You need to tighten them, Sir."

  "I see. Thank you. Roll over onto your back then and put your hands behind your head."

  I do as he asks, peering up at him through lashes spiky with tears. His image is blurred as he leans over me to inspect my nipples.

  "Is this your first time with clamps?" He flicks one swollen, hard nub with his finger and I can't contain my scream. Whatever possessed me to think the pain had subsided?

  "Yes, Sir," I whimper. "I'm not sure I like them any more."

  He chuckles. "That's enough then, for your first time. I'll take them off now. It's going to hurt, so after that you might appreciate another orgasm, I think."

  I think so, too.

  "Keep your back arched, just like that. However much it hurts you are not to move. You can scream if you like though."

  I do scream. Loud and clear, and fit to bring the neighbours running – if he had any. He wastes no time in loosening the tweezers and removing them, and the blood rushes back into my poor, abused nubs. The pain is indescribable, blinding almost, though short-lived. I'm shaking when the waves of agony recede, but I have managed to obey and remain still throughout the ordeal.

  "Good girl. You deserve a reward." He returns to the chest, this time to collect a dildo. It's large, the phallic shape quite mesmerising. Even so, I think I might prefer the real thing.

  "Sir, fuck me, please. I want you."

  "You shall have me, girl, but I have other plans for you first." He casts an appraising glance at my pussy. "Plenty wet enough, I'd say. You're positively dripping down here. I’m guessing you’re having a good time."

  Is that a rhetorical question? Probably, since he does not seem inclined to press me for an answer.

  He parts my pussy lips with his thumbs, then places the dildo between them. He slides it inside, right to the hilt. The dual penetration is intense, my entire body feels stuffed, crammed impossibly full. I lie there, my back to the bench, gasping as my pussy stretches and re-shapes around the toy.

  "Okay?"

  "Yes, I think so, Sir. But I..."

  "Hush. Enjoy."

  I frown, puzzled, then let out a startled yelp as he flicks a switch concealed in his palm. The remote controlled vibrator springs into life sending ripples of pure joy the length of my inner channel. "Oh! Oh, my Lord!"

  "Nice?"

  Yes! No! Confused, overwhelmed, I reach for his hand. "It's too much, Sir. Too intense. Please..."

  He squeezes my fingers. "I have you, sweetheart. Let it happen."

  His gentle words and assured touch are enough. I settle, begin to breathe evenly, riding the waves of sensation now pulsing through me. Iain leans over to kiss me, his lips soft and warm against mine. His free hand is between my legs, strumming my engorged clit. Moments later I explode. Or implode. Whatever, the orgasm is powerful and all-consuming, crashing through my nervous system with the force of a tsunami. I reach for him, grasping his arm, clinging on for dear life as my climax sizzles out to sear every nerve ending.

  At last, it is over. The faint aftershocks are still pulsing but my body is relaxing again. Iain switches the vibrator off, then removes it. He scoops me from the bench and carries me to the bed where he sits back against the pillows, wraps his arms around me and rocks me against him. I cling on, my arms around his neck, reluctant to ever let go.

  "You okay?" His voice is soft, caring.

  "Mmm, yes, I am. I think. It was just... So intense. I didn't expect..."

  "Here, take a sip of this." He has produced a small bottle of chilled water from somewhere and now presses the open top against my lips. I gulp at it, greedy, thirstier than I knew. I pause. "More?"

  I nod, and take the bottle from
him. In seconds, I've downed half of it. I hand it back. He replaces the top and drops it on the floor beside the bed.

  "Ready to continue?"

  "Continue?"

  "Oh, yes. You didn't imagine a couple of orgasms and a spanking paddle were all I have in store for you, did you?"

  Well come to think of it, no. But I might be persuaded to settle for that. Except, Iain shows no sign of wanting to convince me enough is enough. Instead he stands up with me still in his arms and carries me back to the bench.

  "Original position, but this time I will use the straps. You're a bit wobbly now and I wouldn't want you to fall."

  "No, Sir. Thank you." I drape myself across the spanking bench and place my hands in each of the leather cuffs when directed to do so. Next Iain secures my ankles, and my knees, to render me effectively immobile.

  "Remember, red means you want to stop."

  I watch as he returns to the chest to select his next implement, and cringe when he picks up one of the tawses. I've never experienced the effect, but submissives talk, and I know those things sting. He swings it beside his legs as he returns to the bench to regard his target, my upturned bottom.

  "Your arse is already pretty red, but we can do a lot better yet. You may want to consider upgrading to a comfier seat on the plane."

  "I want marks, Sir. I want something to remember this by." My inner pain slut is making her views known.

  "I think I can promise you a glorious set of marks that won't fade any time soon.

  His voice is like liquid chocolate, rich, dark and so seductive. I melt into the bench, glad of the restraints which free me from the need to make any effort at all to stay in place. I can relax, drift, simply be.

  "Six again. Ready?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  There's a whistling sound, then the leather wraps itself around my unprotected bottom. I gasp. It hurts. It hurts so much, but the sensation is truly exquisite, too.

  "One."

  The whistle again, then a loud crack as my other cheek explodes in agony. "Two."

  The pain is exhilarating, breath-taking. I can only suppose my endorphins have kicked in somewhere along the line because it's bearable, just.

  "Three. Four."