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

by Sierra Cartwright

  I'm screaming now as each stroke lands, but my mood is one of elation. I'm flying, out of my body, soaring on an updraft of pure sensation. Iain McCain is orchestrating my response, carrying me on this journey as he stimulates my senses, taking me to heights I could only imagine before, then allowing me to drift back down.

  "Five." That one lands on my sweet spot and my clit throbs.

  "Six." Again on my sweet spot. I'm thrusting my hips, desperate for my next orgasm, so close, yet tantalisingly out of reach.

  There's a slap of leather against wood as Iain drops the tawse. I lie still, suspended between dream and reality, wanting more, wanting something...

  "Oh, God. Yes!"

  His cock is at my entrance, the wide, sleek head stretching me, pushing inside. I arch my spine as much as I am able, opening for him. He inches forward, his entry slow, careful, infinitely gentle. I want it hard and rough and brutal, but it isn't to be. Iain drives his cock forward, the motion smooth and controlled until he fills me completely. The dildo looked huge, felt enormous, but Iain is more. Much, much more. I gyrate my hips, squeezing down around him. The sensation is heightened further as he rotates the butt plug again, sending a wave of gentle pressure through both my channels.

  He leans over me, his elbows resting on the arms of the bench, beside mine. I am positioned at the perfect height and angle, naturally. Just as he said. He withdraws, then drives his erection back into my pussy, this time harder. He does it again, harder still, and I start to convulse around him. His strokes now are swift and powerful, as though making up for his moderation of a few seconds ago. He stands up, his hands on my hips as he drives his cock in and out of me, like a piston. I cry out, demanding more.

  He delivers more, and more still. I'm close, my orgasm bubbling and boiling to the surface. "Sir, I want to come. Need to—"

  "Wait." The command is terse, his voice like gravel.

  "I can't. I—"

  A hard slap to the side of my right buttock presses his point home. "I said, wait."

  I bury my face in the soft suede, fighting against my response. He means it. I have to obey, mustn't let him down. But it's difficult. Impossible.

  "Sir, Sir..."

  "Wait. I'll tell you when you can come."

  I subside into a frenzy of futile clenching, attempt to angle my body to avoid the constant contact with my clit. Anything to lessen the sensation, buy me more precious seconds. None of it helps. I'm beyond desperate.

  "Now. You can come now and make it good."

  I don't need telling twice. My climax is ripping through me almost before he finishes speaking, reducing me to a shivering, shuddering mass of nerve endings. Iain, too, is there. He rams his cock deep and holds still, his erection lurching inside me as he shoots ribbons of hot semen into my channel.

  He falls forward to lie across me, his weight on top of me for once. I don't mind, especially when he lifts my hair from the nape of my neck and kisses me there. "Quite a ride, little subbie. Loved that."

  "Me too, Sir."

  "I think we need something just a little less intense now, something sensual rather than painful. Do you want to continue?"

  Wild horses couldn't drag me away. I mutter my answer. "Yes, Sir. Please."

  Chapter Five

  Iain strolls over to the chest and I watch, my mood somewhere between content and bloody elated. Every cell in my body is alive, switched on, sensitised to the least touch, the merest whisper of contact. I trust him, utterly. He turns to face me, and I let out a sigh. I knew it would be that. The violet wand. This will be another first for me, one I'm desperate to experience.

  "You know what this is, Rose? What it does?"

  "Yes, Sir. Electrical play."

  "Have you tried it before?"

  "No, Sir."

  "Okay, a fairly gentle introduction then."

  He approaches me again and I get a clear view of the toy. He has attached the comb extension. I remember reading somewhere that this is one of the less intense uses of this particular equipment, and I wonder if I may be just a little disappointed. Pain slut that I am, I want more. I know better than to attempt to direct operations though: my Dom is in charge.

  There's a faint crackling sound when he activates the switch. I flinch, despite my eagerness.

  "I won't hurt you. This is the lowest setting, and I think you'll love it."

  I have no reason to argue with him. He's been right about everything else so far. So I don't reply, just flex my restrained body as he moves in alongside me. He caresses my back, trailing his palm across my shoulders than down my spine. It feels heavenly. He repeats, applying more pressure this time, and continues down to massage the cheeks of my bum. The pain is sharp, my tender skin sore as he presses on. His fingers trail across my pussy, the lips swollen and wet from being so thoroughly fucked just minutes ago. I groan, forgetting about the violet wand for a few moments as he strokes my dripping folds.

  He sinks two fingers into my pussy, at the same time as he draws the violet wand along my shoulder blades. The sensation is a curious prickling, hot but not burning. I arch my spine, gasping. It's unlike anything I've felt before.

  "Good?" His voice is soft, so sexy.

  "I'm not sure, Sir. It feels – strange."

  "Yeah?" He shifts his attention to my bum, applying the wand there, across my tender cheeks. The crackling is more intense, but the sound is the same. He hasn't increased the intensity. The greater sensation stems from my already tender skin reacting to the electrical current. He sweeps the wand across my buttocks, again and again. I stretch and writhe, loving the weird sensation, yearning for more.

  "Let’s try something else now." He lifts the wand away and turns it off.

  "Sir? I was liking that." My tone is slightly petulant and I'm not really surprised to receive a sharp swat on my bum. Iain removes the comb attachment and puts that back on the chest of drawers. He replaces it with another, a longer, narrow probe then comes to stand over me again.

  "Who's in charge here? Since when did you get to decide? I want you to hold this, please."

  "What? I don't understand..."

  He ignores me, concentrating instead on shoving the wand into my right hand.

  "Wrap your fist around the probe, try not to drop it. And keep it upright. Yes, like that." He flicks the switch again.

  The probe hums in my hand, but the sensation is mild. I turn my head to peer at Iain. "Sir, nothing's happening."

  "You think? How about now?" he reaches for my exposed pussy again and draws the flat of his hand along my slit. I let out a startled shriek. Electricity is everywhere, shocking me, stimulating my nerve endings. The charge is coming from his hands, his fingers, every place he touches me tingles.

  "Sir! Oh, oh..."

  He lifts his hand away. "How was that?"

  "I'm not sure. Odd." My voice is quivering, the surprise and sudden overload of unfamiliar sensation threatening to overwhelm me. So much for the lowest setting.

  "Shall we try something else?" He leans over me to kiss my shoulder blade. Even that light contact sends a bolt of electricity sizzling through me, but I'm expecting it this time and I manage to remain quiet. More or less.

  He straightens, and trails his fingers lightly down my side to my hip, then feathers a trail across my smarting buttocks. The electrical current hums and brings my nerve endings alive. The feeling is acute, intense, but not painful exactly. I'm writhing and wriggling, not sure if I want to escape or beg for more.

  He moves around me to stand between my legs. He drops to his knees and nuzzles my inner thigh. The sensitive skin there quivers as the current dances across it. It tickles, sort of. Not quite, but that's the closest description I can summon to my frazzled brain. Iain edges his mouth closer to my pussy, and I realise what he intends.

  "Sir, no, I... Aagh!"

  He takes my clit between his lips and sucks, sending a sizzling bolt of liquid lightning straight to my core.

  I'm panting, squirming as
he continues to suck my tender bud, and then I give up control entirely as he removes the butt plug and inserts one long finger in my arse. I'm bucking on the bench, my body convulsing, catapulted into a frenzy of sensation. And all the while, as I beg and plead and let him do as he pleases to me, I grip that wand as though my life depends on it.

  My orgasm is swift, a punch of pleasure rather than a caress, surging up and gone in moments. I'm not surprised when Iain stands, undoes his jeans again, and sinks his cock into me. That was always where this was headed. I grip him, tightening my inner walls as I start to convulse again. I'm exhausted, helpless, yet my response goes on and on. Endless. The current sizzles, hums, crackles; wave after wave of prickling, hot havoc shatter my senses.

  "Good girl. Let me have it now."

  "What?" I open my eyes. Ian is beside me again, unwrapping my nerveless fingers from the wand. It has stopped humming.

  He takes it from me and lays it on the floor, then drops another kiss onto my shoulder. He stands up. I turn my head to see him re-fastening his jeans. He's remained fully clothed throughout. I wait, patient, expecting him to release me from the cuffs holding me in place. He doesn't. Instead he saunters back to his chest and selects yet another implement. He turns to face me, a cane flexing between his hands.

  "Sir?"

  "Do you know one of the things I love most about being a Dom?"

  "No, Sir. What?"

  "It's applying a cane to a well-fucked sub's bare arse. Then admiring the stripes as I fuck her again. Are you up for that, my little Rose? Are you still with me?"

  "I – I..." I hesitate, briefly. "Yes, Sir, I'm still with you."

  It's a narrow cane, flexible, very quick. Iain swipes it through the air and the whistle it creates is terrifying. Exciting, too. I'm so aroused I can taste it. I know to expect a sting. I'm wrong. That little cane delivers a blinding, white light of agony that sets my backside alight.

  "One." Iain counts slowly, taking his time between strokes. He caresses my burning flesh, rubbing the pain right into my muscles, deep and penetrating.

  "Two." The other side now explodes. I'm shaking, beyond screaming as the onslaught continues. Should I stop this? Just one word would do it.

  "Three. Four."

  Red. It's in my head, right on the tip of my tongue. But I don't say it, won't say it. I want more. Not done yet.

  "Five." As before, he reserves my sweet spot for the last, the hardest strokes. My clit is inflamed too, swollen, throbbing, pulsing with need.

  "Six."

  Oh God... I let out a strangled croak as something weird and wonderful happens. The cane lands again, in the same magical spot, and tips me over some edge I didn't even realise was there. My body is convulsing in pain and - something else. Orgasm. I'm actually climaxing from being caned. "Oh Christ, I'm coming. I need—"

  "I know. This." Iain tosses the cane onto the bed and slides his hand between my legs to rub my clit. The result is explosive, shattering, drawing the most powerful climax yet from somewhere deep within my core. I'm shaking, dizzy with lust, mindless with pleasure and pain, and unable to even start to separate the two.

  Iain waits until the first surging torrent has passed, then he releases me from the restraints. His movements are swift and efficient. He lifts me from the bench, and in moments I am sprawled on my side on his bed. I lie there, watching through half-closed eyes as he strips off his clothes. The sight of his naked body is a reward worth waiting for. He is solid, muscled but not stocky: pure strength and raw power. So sexy I could just melt right here. Perhaps I already have.

  He joins me on the bed and rolls me onto my back. The duvet is scratchy under my abraded skin, but I revel in the sensation, rubbing my bottom against the bed linen. Iain lies over me, his elbows on either side of my head.

  "Now, I get to fuck you again."

  "Yes, Sir. Yes, please", I whisper.

  There's no sweet and tender start this time, no gentle penetration, no feeling his way. Iain McCain knows his way perfectly well and drives his cock right in, balls deep.

  "Yes, oh yes. Fuck me hard. Please, Sir, hard and fast."

  "Be careful what you wish for, little sub. Rose's are already quite red enough."

  He's talking nonsense. Or maybe it's just me. I frown up at him, then remember where all this started. "What? Oh, right. That. Please, Sir, shut up and fuck me."

  He chuckles. "Such a demanding little sub. And did no one ever warn you about the consequences of telling a Dom to shut up?"

  I grip his shoulders, trying not to smile. "No Sir. No one mentioned that. Are you going to spank me again?"

  "Oh yes, I think so. The minute you get back from America. You will be back at some point, I assume?"

  "I have to visit my mother."

  "Good. I do like a dutiful daughter. Now you shut up, grab that headboard and hang on."

  I wake to the sound of running water. A shower.

  I shift, stretch, then wince. I'm sore. Everywhere. Even in places I wasn't entirely certain I had. The events of yesterday flood back into my head.

  I was locked in the bookshop, then rescued. By Iain McCain, the man I was looking for, the Dom I wanted to submit to before I leave. My new job, new opportunities, exciting challenges. All out there, waiting for me. I drag myself into a sitting position, amazed to find I actually can. I may be sore, but I feel wonderful. Invigorated, free. And in need of a wee.

  I stumble from the bed and head for the en suite, then veer toward the door to the main living area as I realise Iain is in there showering. Despite our intimacies of last night I’m not minded to pee in front of him. I make my way to the main bathroom, the one I used yesterday, and answer the call of nature. Then I return to the bedroom. Iain is still in the shower so, on impulse, I push open the door.

  He has his back to me, his hair slick as rivulets of steaming water stream down his body. He leans forward to fumble for a bar of soap, but can't quite reach it. I slip into the room and pick it up. I put it in his hand.

  His eyes were closed, but he opens them and smiles at me. "Good morning, Miss Hawkins. I trust you slept well."

  "Yes, Sir, very well. Would you like me to wash your back?"

  "Only if you have no strenuous objection to being fucked against the tiles."

  "I don't believe I do, Sir." I step into the cubicle with him.

  “What time's your flight?"

  "Not until four, but I need to go home, to my mum's, and collect my luggage. I have a taxi booked for twelve o'clock." I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. Ten thirty. "I really should be getting off."

  "No hurry. I'll give you a lift. Finish your coffee.”

  “There’s no need, really. I know you usually play squash on a Sunday—”

  He tilts his head to one side. “And how do you know that, Rose?”

  I squirm, uncomfortable about the subterfuge Mel and I used in order to find out where he lived. I feel like some sort of stalker.

  “Rose? How did you know I play squash at the weekend?” His tone is sharper. I know I can’t lie.

  “My friend, Mel. She knows Jerry.”

  “I see. Jerry should know better than to give out personal details. It answers one question though. I had been wondering how you knew to bring that card to the shop.”

  “Are you angry?”

  Christ, I hope not. I so don’t want to go our separate ways on a sour note.

  “With Jerry, perhaps. But that’s between him and me. I’m not angry with you.”

  “I’m glad. I want us to part friends.”

  His smile is dazzling. “Me too, sweetheart. Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I need to get something from downstairs."

  "Down in the shop? But, it's Sunday. They're closed."

  "I own the place, remember. I prefer to do my shopping out of hours. Won't be long." He leaves me perched on a kitchen stool while he strolls from the room. I allow myself a last admiring look as he leaves. He truly is the sexiest man I've ever met. It's ju
st my luck that in twenty-four hours I'll be over three thousand miles away. I always did have lousy timing.

  He returns a few minutes later, as I'm shrugging into my jacket. The few belongings I had with me when I arrived at the bookshop yesterday are back in my bag. I'm ready to leave. Iain kisses me on the mouth, then picks up a set of car keys from the top of the fridge. In silence I follow him down the steps and back through the shop.

  His car is sexy, just as he is. A long, low machine in a deep shade of blue. He opens the passenger door for me to slide in. The sound of the engine reminds me of the violet wand, a memory I struggle to stifle.

  He did mention that we could play together again, but that was in the throes of lust. Now, in the cold light of a chilly February morning, he may feel differently.

  "So, where are we headed?"

  I recite my mum's address and the car pulls away from the kerb. The journey is short: just a few minutes and he's pulling up beside her garden gate. The trip was passed in silence and I reflect that, outside of the bedroom, or dungeon, we have little to say to one another. Well, he does. I could think of lots if it were not for the fact that the same few words are circling my head, as though on a loop.

  Will you still be here when I come back?

  He turns to me, his smile warm. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a plain white envelope. "This is for you. The least I could do."

  I take it. It's a card.

  "For me?"

  He nods. "Open it."

  I slit the top and pull it out. The sexy, burlesque-style image on the front is so typically me, and she's holding a massive bouquet of deep, red roses.

  I glance up at him, puzzled. "Where did you get this?"

  "We carry a small stock in the shop. I remembered this and thought it was perfect for you. Not as kinky as yours, but we do cater to a family clientele."

  "It's lovely." I open the card

  These roses are red too, though nowhere near as lovely as you. Be safe, little Rose, and come back soon. And next time, use the front door.

  About Ashe Barker

  I’ve been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. I still love reading, the hotter the better. But now I have a good excuse for my guilty pleasure – research.