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“Then do it,” Reggie answered.
Gus yanked my pants and panties over my hips and kept jerking them down, taking my shoes with them, until I was completely naked from the waist down. The only clothing that remained was a short t-shirt that covered my breasts and the bra beneath. His scowl and determination suggested that he relished the prospect of punishing me – not at all surprising. I knew that just one word from me would stop the ordeal. But as I watched Reggie return to his desk and take a seat, I knew that he wouldn’t exercise that option. I couldn’t lose the opportunity that lay beyond the minutes I would suffer now.
Gus stood at my backside while Reggie sat directly in front of me where he would see every jerk and twist, every pained grimace. He looked at me dispassionately, remote and aloof. I wondered, as I had a hundred times, what was going on in that enigmatic mind of his. However I had little time to ponder the question. Gus was already beginning what he’d come for. The first several smacks of leather bit hard, and I cried out, though more from shock than pain. I jerked with new each strike, yet the sensation was not so intense that I couldn’t find some pleasure in the heat that rose from the stinging skin. Certainly this was no more painful than the strapping I took at the sha
ck. But then he paused for several moments and when he began again, the blows rained down harder and more frequently The pain rose quickly and became so strong that I began to moan, even despite my intention to remain silent. I writhed in anguish, wracked by fierce sensations that cut and bit and went so deep that I was sure there’d be welts that would last for days.
I wanted the pain to end, but even more I wanted to endure it for the sake of a tenuous relationship that seemed to demand this as the only way to heal the rift I’d caused.
My ass and thighs burned from the blows, and while Gus was human enough to ease off from time to time, those brief respites only signaled a new level of intensity when he began again. My body instinctively jerked and twisted to avoid the strikes, but that only made the pain worse. The strap would wrap around my side causing a nasty bite that lingered far longer than anything that struck my ass. I tried to maintain some kind of control, but it was nearly impossible when Gus let the strap fly without pause and my groans became cries then shrieks of anguish. The energy behind the punishment clearly communicated the man’s profound disgust with me. I sensed it in every blow, in the way he’d grunt and spew out his scornful taunts. Keeping my eyes focused on the cooler Reggie, I let those comments pass.
Strangely, on occasion, I found myself experiencing an amazing bliss, my body accepting all the pain and transforming it into pleasure. A moment later another more painful blow would knock out any hint of pleasure and I’d be desperate for the punishment to end. This crazy back and forth had me nearly delirious, shrieking one moment, moaning the next. My arms ached and my muscles were weary. My flesh was red, raw, welted, worked so thoroughly I knew I’d be hurting for days, with the evidence of the whipping lasting long after the hurt faded. The sound of my hurt changed as the pain became impossible to manage. I couldn’t control my cries.
Then, suddenly, it was over.
When Gus stopped, I was sure that it was only another pause in the long ordeal, but then out of my feverish stupor I heard his voice. “I’ll damage the bitch if I keep on.” As if he were angry because he couldn’t continue, he threw the strap at my feet and left the room.
I barely remember Reggie releasing the tether, or walking me to the sofa. I do recall the cool leather as I collapsed against it and the comfort it brought to my throbbing ass. I have no idea how long I lay there. I doubt if I’d have moved had Reggie not assisted me. When he finally pulled me to my feet, I’d hoped for his tenderness, but there was none. His last words, I’ll never forget. “You’ve created this, Alex. I’d suggest you think on that.”
I found myself wearing a man’s dress shirt when he led me to the den door – don’t know how that got there or why the sudden modesty in this den of iniquity. In my stunned state of mind I don’t recall much about the walk to my bedroom. All I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. I fell to the mattress, wincing as I did, realizing only then how much I hurt all over, even if the whipping was concentrated on my ass. Later I recall Athena’s soft hands rubbing cream into my bottom. And at one point I caught a glimpse of the wounds in the mirror, the bright red rash of color and the places where the strap had made distinct red lines across the skin.
The ordeal was over and I’d survived. I drew some satisfaction from that, and from knowing that I’d made amends with Reggie – as much as that was possible. A dreamless sleep awaited me.
Chapter Twenty-one
Waiting. Waiting for what next was more painful than the strapping. In the art of making a woman suffer in wait, Reggie was as great a master as he was of executing his nasty schemes. Hours piling on hours were painful to an extreme. Waiting by the pool and in the library, eating in the kitchen, walking in the garden, playing with myself in my bed, waiting was the ultimate torture. Days passed when we might have exchanged no more than a word or two. Some days I didn’t see him at all.
Nearly a week passed before he finally appeared – quite out of the blue and to my great surprise, announcing himself as I walked through the garden. “Alex.”
I stopped abruptly feeling his eyes bore into me from behind.
“Let me see you.”
I knew what he meant by the remark. No need to turn around, I bent over and raised my skirt to show off my wounded backside. There remained a few places on my bottom where the strap had dug into my flesh enough that red welts and small bruises were still visible on my skin. The rest of my skin was clear without a trace of the rough abuse – except for one spot on my right side where the end of the strap hit and dug especially deep. The mark was small, but dark and deep.
He reached out to trace one of the wounds with a finger. “Gus did good work.”
I shuddered deeply from that simple touch, pent-up, needy, grasping at a desire that continued to elude me. Did he have any idea what this simple moment was doing to my sexual arousal?
“You could easily take another strapping.” I flinched hearing him say this. A warning or just playing with my mind? “Had it been me, it would have been more severe,” he informed me. When I stood upright, he moved closer and began to massage my buttocks with the palm of his hand, and not at all gently, as if he wanted to bring back the pain. I started to object but stopped abruptly.
“Yes, you’d better stop,” he snapped sharply, “I recall something about your being done with defying me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember how this feels, and know that it’ll happen again.”
Why again?
“Someday, my dear, you’ll flaunt your wounds rather than be embarrassed by them.”
I could feel my body heat rise as he spoke. And when his breath tickled the back of my neck I shuddered again.
At last he stepped back, motioning me to one of the stone benches in the garden. “Sit.”
I sat, anticipation burning within. I wanted so badly to begin again and end the wait.
He strolled about in front of me as if he were trying to decide what to say, although he’d already had that figured out. “You want control,” he declared at last, as he looked off over the garden hedge to the valley below.
