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"Mackenzie?"
He froze. He'd done the unthinkable. "I'm sorry, Mistress. Can you repeat that?"
Her lips curved, but he wouldn't have called the expression a smile.
"I said, pick up the cat, and lash me with it. Ten strikes."
Chapter 6
This time he bit down on his tongue before he asked her to repeat the question. He had heard her clearly enough, but shock made him want her to rewind, play it once more.
"I'm waiting."
"Mistress. I can't."
"Did I or did I not just give you a direct command?" Her tone sharpened.
"But I'll hurt you. Forget it. I won't hurt you." He felt his loins tighten along with his heart as she turned her body several degrees, showing him the curve of one bare breast. The silver ring of the nipple chain glittered in the light. A small tassel of sapphires and silver beads hung from it, beneath the stiff peak.
"Then I'll show mercy, and reduce the count. You will strike me once, and put all your strength behind it, or this will be the last time you'll ever see me. You'll leave this club and never come back to it. Do it."
She turned away from him again, folding her arms at her waist in front of her.
Mac closed his hand on the handle of the cat o'nine. Nine lash ends, all tied in knots with a fringe of tiny pewter tassels, a variation of the metal-tipped cat some favored here at The Zone. He'd been lashed before by Mistresses, but had never done it himself.
"Put your back into it," she said quietly. "Like an overhand throw."
"Mistress--"
"Mackenzie. Do as I tell you." Soft words, but steel underneath.
She would leave and he would never see her again. Did she get off on being whipped? He'd not heard of a Dominant who did, though many did it as training for themselves to learn how it felt, how to do it without hurting their subs in irreparable ways.
"Just do it, and it will be over. Three seconds. Now," she snapped.
Mac jerked forward, and put his strength behind the strike, though everything in him told him not to do it.
He had misjudged her height. The lashings struck her shoulder in a sparkling fan and then curled over, the metal tips slapping her front sharply, so that he felt the tug of her flesh as he reflexively jerked back.
He knew the signs of pain, heard it in the cry she bit off, the indrawn breath through her teeth, the tightening of her shoulders and buttocks beneath the dress.
He dropped the flail and lunged forward, catching her by the shoulders and turning her around. "Ah, Jesus."
The metal tips had bitten into the soft upper curve of her right breast, leaving tiny tracks of welts, nearly half of which were welling up blood. But the ones that horrified him most had struck and drawn blood on the areola of that beautiful mauve nipple.
"Violet, what the hell were you thinking? Fucking Christ, I've never flogged anyone in my life. I didn't know--"
She reached up, put her hands around his neck, and brought his mouth down to her lips.
He was quivering with fury at her, and she played havoc with his senses, bringing softness and sex into the equation. His hands slid to her bare waist, brought her closer, groaning as her thighs pressed against his still-harnessed cock. Due to the circumstances, it had lost some of its power, but her moist lips drove it back to painful rigidity almost instantly. She was in his arms, her body all his, and she was as small and delicate and precious as she looked. But even though she trembled with the pain he had caused, he felt the core of strength she possessed beneath it all.
He gladly would have stood forever with her there, his tongue stroking hers, his hands holding her waist, itching to go lower, grip that round beautiful ass and squeeze her, hold her tight against his cock, make her feel his need, his desire to possess and be possessed all at once.
r /> She pushed him back a little and he sucked in a breath. "I could break your stubborn little neck," he growled.
"I could say the same for your big thick one." She touched it with her fingertips. "The way you feel at this moment? That's how you make me feel when you let me hurt you. I can take care of you, cherish you, and not consider you weak." Her gaze was hard, at odds to the softness of the mouth and body he had just sampled. "I know you're a strong man, Mackenzie. Everything about you fairly screams it. But you're vulnerable to me, no matter how hard you play a game to try and pretend you're not. You won't play games here. This place isn't about games. It's about getting past the games."
She reached down, unbuckled the harness. Mac stifled a groan of relief and winced as she gently peeled back the straps. He was torn between lust and pain as she traced the deep red marks ringing him.
