Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  She still had a lot to learn.

  He would be delighted to punish her, if the jury of her peers handed down a guilty judgment.

  They were doing more than handing it down. They were yelling at her, cursing her with an inventiveness that pleased him.

  They demanded her torture.

  Ro’s mouth quirked into a half grin. He felt affection for them, his created family. Sadism and masochism were coming together in a feeding frenzy, with Lizbeth the stoic self-sacrifice. He had to admire the way she stood still for it, her bearing aloof, her stance slightly apart and her wrists handcuffed behind at the small of her back. He wished the swells of her up-thrust breasts, and that eye-catching peek of that red lace bra, weren’t so distracting. He wondered if she wore panties.

  He decided he wouldn’t wonder for long.

  In his judge’s voice, Ro intoned, “Lizbeth. The severity of your crimes merits the harshest possible sentence. I’m pleased the jury recognizes this.” He grinned at her, and was even more pleased to see her flinch.

  The audience had hushed. Only the background beat of music accompanied his next words.

  “In response to the jury’s guilty verdict, your sentence is to be public humiliation, paddling, torture…the works.”

  Lizbeth felt the strength go out of her legs. She sagged, supported by two “guards” as if she truly were a criminal given some terrible sentence. Public humiliation? She’d envisioned a brief token paddling as the price for a much-needed private talk.

  Almost in reflex she began to struggle, trying to free herself. “I don’t think—”

  “Relax. It’ll be over with soon.”

  Lizbeth met the sadistic gaze of the guard on her right, and swallowed. His smile reminded her of Ro’s. She struggled harder.

  “You’d better stop that.”

  Ro questioned the guard in a silky voice. “Is the convict giving you trouble?” He’d taken off his wig, she noticed. His dark hair was cut short enough not to look too rumpled, but the uncombed spikes of it made him look even more dangerous.

  Feeling panic that sent a surge of adrenaline to her limbs, Lizbeth stomped on the guard’s foot and lunged from him. If her center of gravity weren’t shifted by her hands being locked behind her back she would have made it, but he just clutched her more tightly, cursing.

  “For that escape attempt, I am adding a whipping to your sentence.” Ro stared down at her, frightening yet compelling in his dark robes.

  “You can’t do that. I came here to explain—”

  “Enough!” Ro stood. “You’ve been found guilty. Until your punishment is complete, you will say nothing, unless it is your safe word. ‘Collar,’ I believe it was? Nod if this is accurate.”

  Lizbeth glared at him, but nodded.

  “All you have to do is utter that word and you are free to leave. Alternatively, you can accept the punishment I wish you to endure. Stay, and you must do as you’re told, and keep silent. Nod if you understand.”

  Oh, she understood. Ro was on a power trip. But the crazy part of it was that she was responding to his scornful treatment. She felt a sinking sort of desire propelling her toward the deeply sensual zone she’d experienced only with him. She laughed, strangling it in her throat before he could hear it and hand out further punishments. She’d been split into two people. One was terrified at being surrounded by individuals who wished her harm. That person wondered what the hell was keeping her from shouting her safe word at the top of her lungs. Not to mention keeping her from accepting Ted’s proposal and getting herself back to Alabama where she belonged.

  But the other person was growing stronger by the second. It stirred to life and stretched like a satisfied kitten under the heat of his glare. It gloried in being roughly controlled, and hoped for more of the same.

  “Nod if you understand!”

  Lizbeth felt tears spring into her eyes. How could she be enjoying this? Ro’s anger was real. The torture would be too.

  She shivered, anticipating. Her nipples were rock hard. She nodded.

  “Put her in the stocks!”

  “To the stocks!” the guards echoed, frog-marching her toward the large, hinged wooden boards in the middle of the stage.

  The masked dominatrix suddenly replaced one of her guards. Lizbeth felt nails dig into her arm, and looked up into the dark pools of shadow where her eyes were shrouded. “You don’t have to do this,” the dom whispered in her ear. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to.” She contrived a delay, holding Lizbeth back, making the sadistic guard huff with impatience. She waited for Lizbeth’s reply.

  “I know,” Lizbeth said. “I…I want to.”

  She squeezed Lizbeth’s arm hard enough to leave imprints, but even as Lizbeth winced, the woman whispered, “You are superb. Go get him.” She backed two graceful steps.

  She felt her sexual buzz increase as the guards lay rough hands on her. As they positioned her between the boards, a familiar masculine hand suddenly reached between them, pinched her nipples viciously, and pushed aside the cups of her red bra with two quick scratches of lace.

  She was uncovered! “Hey!” she protested.

  “Last warning,” Ro intoned. “Another word out of you and I’m going to place a gag in your mouth. You can give your safe word by giving a thumbs-down instead. I think I’d like to gag you. Say something else.”

  Lizbeth looked at him stubbornly.

  Ro shrugged. “Too bad. Your mouth would look good all stretched around…a gag.

  “Back in the Cage Room, anything goes. With an audience, if I wish. Interested?”

  She shook her head, feeling her breasts bounce. The cool, unfamiliar air on their tips brought moisture between her legs. They’d folded her in half, her ankles placed by the guards on the half circle. Ro gently brought her wrists forward to place them next to her ankles and a few inches to the outside. Then he lowered the top board, enclosing all four limbs. She was trapped.

  The awkward position was a new one to her body, and her muscles already complained. She’d never seen quite this cruel, efficient side of Ro. But he wouldn’t actually hurt her, would he? Not really. Even with his frightening anger, probably thinking she’d made out with another guy and accepted a marriage proposal mere days after their session in the Cage Room, Ro wouldn’t hurt her.

  Impersonal hands removed her black high heels, exposing her bare feet. The nerve endings on the bottoms of her arches flickered to life as a finger drew slowly down it. Tickling. She flapped her feet in reflex, but the boards prevented further movement. She was shocked at how sensitive her feet were. Ro flicked at her heel, looking satisfied, then stepped to one side.

  She was to be presented to everyone? She stared up at him, mutinous. In her bent-over position her cleavage was presented to passersby and her nipples pointed at a patch of floor a yard in front of her. It was humiliating.

  As he’d intended. She watched the cool smile that touched his lips, and knew he could sense the direction of her thoughts.

  People trailed by. Strange fingers touched her toes, stroked her arches, tickled her mercilessly. They laughed when she squirmed, so she tried not to, but she couldn’t help it. How had she never known the vulnerability of her own feet? Worse, as she shifted around, her dress rode up. Everyone could see the color of her underwear.

  She gave silent, heartfelt thanks for her decision to wear silky black bikini briefs instead of a thong.

  Even as her embarrassment increased with each torturer playing with her, she felt a jolt of pure lust engulf her body, as if there were a direct line from her feet to her sex. Every time Ro allowed another stranger to tease her feet, to tickle her without relief, she felt a greater measure of desire.

  Ro wasn’t even participating. He only watched with an aloof expression that denied any personal connection.

  That diminished her as much as her shameful response, until she had to hang her head in humiliation.

  Ro immediately stepped forward. “Next punishment. P
addling, and whipping.” The guards raised the board encasing her wrists and ankles, and Lizbeth flinched as they touched her feet to help her out of the stocks. She rubbed her wrists.

  Before she’d reclaimed her body sufficiently, Ro barked an order. “Stand up!”

  She did, wobbling on feet that still felt too sensitive. She ground them against the wood floor and tugged the hem of her dress down as far as it would go. The eyes of dozens of strangers drilled into her. Part of her felt bashful. Another part felt exhilarated by their scrutiny. She even smiled. The guards rotated her gently in a half circle, as if turning precious artwork around for the audience’s viewing pleasure. It really wasn’t so bad.

  “Bend over and grab your ankles.”

  Lizbeth stiffened. She faced the back of the stage. That meant…

  “Yes, your ass is going to be on display. While I paddle it. Bend over and grab your ankles. Now.”

  Shame replaced her shaky confidence, but she knew she’d like less the consequences of defying Ro’s order.

  She bent. Her dress hiked up again. Her hair hung down.

  Ro’s tender touch on her neck made her flinch. He trailed his fingers sensuously around the base of her head, massaging her. “Good girl.”

  A moment of pleasure, a moment of outrage. He’d spoken to her as if she were a dog! The crowd murmured its approval.

  “I’m going to give you twenty-five strikes. If you move from this position, I will start again at one. Ready?” He was asking the audience, not her. They shouted assent.

  “It’s a naughty bottom, isn’t it?” Ro caressed her ass cheeks with casual ownership. Lizbeth felt her face heat with mortification. The worst of it was that part of her leapt to his touch, reveled in the sweet warmth of his palm gliding over her silky, too-brief panties. She gulped as his hand delved slightly between her cheeks, brushed the softer mound between her legs. The sound of her breathing was loud to her, trapped inside the curtain of her hair. She thought of all the people watching what he did. Thank god she was wearing underwear.

  “I think these panties should go, don’t you?”

  She made an outraged sound and tried to wriggle away from him, but he’d anticipated her. One arm snaked down, whip quick, pinioning her to her original position. The other hand peeled her panties down, exactly as low as last time: enough to reveal her cheeks but not so much to show what lay between them. There was that, at least; her legs were together.

  For the moment. She whimpered, afraid of the consequences of using language, or moving too much, beginning to feel like the dog he addressed. “Down, girl. Settle down. That’s right, you’re fine, this is what you want. Isn’t it, Lizbeth?”

  Yes. It is. Part of her did. And in response to his affectionate, knowing, honeyed voice, all she wanted to do was to please him. Then they could talk. Then they could straighten—

  Whack. “One!” The crowd counted.

  The stinging pain was immediate.

  Whack. “Two!” The sound was harsh on her ears, the leather-covered paddle slapping bare flesh high and sharp and very personal.

  “Three! Four! Five!” Her bottom began to feel hot. Then itchy, cool, then hotter. He increased the tempo. And strength. She couldn’t help moving. She wriggled away from the fiery hurt, moving her hands from her ankles for a moment, uncomfortable.

  “Tsk, tsk. Have to start again at one.”

  Whack. “One!”

  As the blows rained down, her bottom heated further. She tried to lessen the sting, but knew that within her limited position the movement only made her ass wiggle as if she craved more. She was on fire. She felt another crush of mortification as cool air caressed her ass and her mound. Ro had paused, reminding her how she was in full, air-circulated view of the public. Then the paddle fell on her right thigh, then her left, then higher. And on the other side. Then five strikes quick and hard, not giving her a chance to recover. It was unbearable.

  She became aware of the sound of her moaning only when he stopped. “Very good. You may stand. For the moment.”

  Hearing the rough passion in his voice, she felt a spike of lust. Her bottom and upper thighs felt as if she’d had a bad sunburn, and tinglingly alive when she pulled her panties back up.

  “You’ve been very bad,” Ro said. Was that a lustful edge in his voice? Was he as inflamed inflicting this violence as she was receiving it? If so, it was not in evidence by the time he spoke again. “And you will endure the remainder of your punishment without your panties. Take them off now.”

  7

  Lizbeth opened her mouth to refuse.

  Ro raised a bored eyebrow, as if her refusal would be utterly predictable. His lips curved upward in a tight smile.

  She closed her mouth. Though she wasn’t sure how on earth she could bring herself to “take them off,” as he’d ordered. All she knew was that she didn’t want to leave before she’d had a chance to talk with him. But take off her underwear? She looked her quandary at him.

  “You can,” he answered her, moving only his mouth. “You will.”

  Then, “Or, I will. You won’t like the way I do it, though.”

  She gave him a poisonous look. Then, trying to ignore the audience, and keeping her dress pulled firmly down with one hand, she wriggled her panties off. Then kicked them to him. Ro scooped them up with one graceful lunge and steered her toward another part of the stage. She moved as if in a trance, the familiar warmth of his hand on her a link to their previous intimacy. Didn’t he remember? Wasn’t their connection still there?

  “Good, they’ve prepared the bench.”

  Lizbeth halted immediately, but he was prepared and scooped her up much the same way he had her panties.

  The feel of being held against his warm broad chest evoked more memories. She hid her face against him, breathing in his now-familiar scent. This was like her worst nightmare and her best fantasy combined. The only thing that could make it better was if Ro cared about her in a meaningful way. That was what she needed to talk to him about. She needed to get this “submissive” business out of the way, and then confess her growing feelings for him. They could have something really special, she knew. All that remained was to find out whether he felt the same way.

  He was actually going to put her over a bench again? Would he mount her again, too? She laughed silently, feeling a little hysterical. He felt her movement.

  “This amuses you?” He dropped her feet, setting her down with a jolt. “We’ll see how amused you are when you’re wiggling on all fours locked to the bitch hitch. That’s what we call it here. You can see why.”

  She could. Though she’d expected something like it, this device he meant for her had tie points. She’d be locked to it. She shook her head, tried to back away.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Ro signaled the guards, and in a short time she was on all fours, her midsection supported by foam-covered straps, her wrists affixed together and dangling similarly from a steel crosspipe above, and her knees forced apart with a spreader bar. She tried to close her legs and failed. A sense of ultimate vulnerability cascaded over her, titillating and frightening. Humiliating. Delightful. She could only give small thanks that Ro’s bitch hitch faced the side wall rather than the audience, and that only he could see her spread crotch.

  “We can’t forget the muzzle.” She jerked away from the vinyl muzzle that dropped down in front of her face like a gas mask. But the grinning guard tilted her head up with one hand and placed it over her head, inserted the anatomically correct protruding gag into her mouth, then tightened the straps.

  “I assume you remember how to give your safe word when your mouth is occupied? Why don’t you show me.”

  Lizbeth lifted one finger at him. It wasn’t her thumb.

  The audience gasped.

  Ro touched her face with gentle respect. She could swear she saw humor and affection in his eyes, but when he spoke his voice was cold as doom. “This criminal wants a thorough, vigorous, severe punishment.” He lifted a long, t
hin crop from where it nestled in its own crevice on the rack, sinking down to a working position on his knees, leaving Lizbeth and the rack in profile view of the audience.

  Silence reigned.

  Lizbeth held her breath. Her whole body clenched, dread and exhilaration a whirlpool threatening to engulf her.

  A hiss split the air and a line of fire exploded on her cheeks. Her body tried to jump to safety, but the restraints caught her, swung her back to him. He whipped her again. And again. Sweet sharp pain licked at tender flesh already heated by the paddle. This time the audience merely watched. Their deep quiet struck her as fascinated, almost respectful.

  Suddenly she felt a large hand on her thigh, the side hidden from viewers. Ro’s free hand. It encased her leg in a rough grip, holding her still. His fingertips wormed up her thigh, burrowed between her cleft. He stroked her where she was most sensitive. As the whip rained down on her and her body lunged, his hand pressed her back into position as his fingers worked cleverly between her legs. Despite the blows that threatened to split her skin, all her awareness went to his fingers.

  He moved the whip’s attentions to the right cheek alone, beating there until she whimpered. Then he chastised the left, the dual action of his flicking finger ripping moans out of her. By the time he marked her lower cheeks with a skillful pattern, making sure every inch was well attended to, she nearly vibrated with the peaks she almost reached. Pleasure alternating with pain had her feeling floaty, sustained at the moment before orgasm, indefinitely. Every time the whip touched already torched flesh she cried out wordlessly around her gag. The combination of sensations was too intense to endure, and tears sprung into her eyes. She had to be bleeding, with the brutal whipping he gave. But with his fingers positioned as they were, she didn’t want him to stop. But he had to stop.