Page 13 of Boneyard HEA

Then he wrenches back my head and he’s peering down at me, groaning as the last of his come spurts inside. Trapped and turned into a fucktoy, I try to spread my legs, as if that will help me have more of him.

“Fuck you, Tomás. A spider gag? I could have mouth fucked her too.”

He grinds in then withdraws, and I hear his bare feet pad along on the floor, on my other side.

“You going to punish her now?” Tomás leans in to whisper in my ear, “You’re lucky it’s not me.”

Something swishes through the air.

“Yes. She was disrespectful to you and forgot the purpose of this deal.” He walks past at the front, then stops behind Tomás. His half-erect cock sticks out through his fly, his pants not even unbuckled.

He fucked me without undressing at all. He didn’t even use a condom.

I don’t care anymore. I’m on birth control. He’s a rich prick. And I’m swimming in half satisfied arousal, almost spasming from the desire to be fucked some more, to come. I need more. Even from these two bastards.

Another swish makes me see the cane in his hand. Oh. Oh no. I get what he means by punish. Unable to speak, I gargle noises through the gag.

He moves behind me, and I tense.

The first strike of the cane draws a line of fire across both my ass cheeks, and I jerk and whimper. Tomás wears that scarred smile that doesn’t move.

The cane strikes me ten more times, and his smile never changes. He only grips the back of my head and draws lines where the tears run down my face. I give one last sob, and he stands, leaving me roped and quivering.

“Good enough?” Mr. Loxland asks.

“Not bad.” He sounds noncommittal. “Another day, we use the needles.”

“Probably.” Mr. Loxland bends over to stare into my eyes then pat my head. “Now, before we lock you away, I want to hear you cry.”

Oh shit. What does that mean? I whimper.

5

Aaron

My words have stirred fear in her. Good. A little fear is good and feeds the sadist in me. She has no idea what I meant, and after the cane, I don’t blame her.

The cane lies on the floor beside her foot.

Her ass is decorated with almost-parallel lines of red that I created. It’s the sort of perfection I can suck into my soul, like a Picasso, a Rembrandt, or an equation on the lifespan of the sun.

“Hold her still.” I wait for him to do so, his hand firm in her hair. She cannot escape anyway, not without the chair she’s bound to, but a man’s hand on her will make this have more impact on her mind.

I plan to break this woman, like I always do. Subdue her, break her, make her understand her place is on her knees.

Her ass shifts as I search in my pocket. Fuck.

Her slit is wet, pink, and swollen. Where it sticks to her, my come shines in the light filtering through the shuttered windows. Her asshole almost begs me to fuck with it.

“Awesome shibari.” I grumble saying that. Red rope, red cane marks. Something about her bothers me.

In reply, Tomás tugs on the rope harness he tied at chest level that winds around both her breasts.

Am I too attracted? Is that what worries me? She killed a man, remember? It’s that. I doubt I could ever trust her, but the challenge drags at me. All the way to the abyss. If the day ever comes when I feel I can put a knife in her hand and sit beside her… That will be my benchmark for taming her.

Quietly, I again pick up the cane. She flinches.

She has the lush kind of ass I can write poetry on in red, black, and blue. I nudge the rope that runs over her lower back, trace it with the cane tip, then go down the back of one leg, past the stripes of red from the cane’s mark. She shudders as I do so.