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“Don’t try to boss me around or I’ll make you a very sorry girl.” He tapped her with the cane two more times, and she had a hard time processing how much it hurt. She had to be bleeding. There was no way she wasn’t.
He tossed the cane aside and rubbed his hand over where he’d hit, and when she saw his hand was completely blood-free, she felt cheated somehow. The pain glowed so hot she was surprised it wasn’t lighting the entire room.
Coming down from the shock of it, she sobbed once before getting herself under control. He sat beside her on the mattress and pet her hair, telling her what a good girl she was, but then just as she was calming down, he started drumming his fingers on the crop shaft, making it vibrate deep inside her. Something touched her clit and started to buzz. She was in too much residual pain from the cane to care, until all of a sudden the buzzing was all that mattered.
She squirmed, trying to get away from the stimulation, but he just followed her with it, playing her body even though she tried to resist him. Then he shifted downward again, replacing the vibrator with his sexy, sinful mouth. He swirled his tongue over her, flicking and sucking. Pressure coiled low in her belly. The crop handle twitched and danced. Starred darkness gathered behind her eyelids, threatening to send her over the edge.
He stopped again.
No! No, no, no!
She managed to open her eyes, struggling to breathe past the knot of hot need and the throb of her ass and her needy pussy. She looked up at him where he was propped on an elbow to watch her squirm.
She felt drugged, like the pain and sexual frustration had settled a fog over her brain. All she could think about was getting his tongue back on her clit, or convincing him to fuck her, but unlike every other man she’d ever been with, this one was in no damned hurry to get his dick involved.
Sweatier than she’d ever been in her life, voice hoarse from begging and screaming at him, she dissolved into whimpers and tears and desperate squirms she knew would get ignored. Slowly, cruelly, he withdrew the crop handle from her throbbing core, then reversed it and snapped the crop against her clit.
White hot pain.
She screamed, her body bowed, straining against his bonds, babbling, wanting just one more snap of the crop so she could orgasm—orgasm from this?—but also desperately wanting him to stop. Her senses were overloaded. She didn’t know which way was up.
“Shh. Shh, sunshine. You’re okay. I’m done now. You’ve taken enough.”
He cut through the tape on her legs and she felt them collapse on the bed, but she was like a marionette with no control over her own strings. She was too cowed to protest when he started to rub life back into her limbs, and didn’t say anything when he uncuffed her arms.
“No more begging?” he asked quietly.
What was the point? “You don’t care if I beg.”
“Oh, but I do,” he said, sitting on the mattress and pulling her into his lap. She felt weird there, sitting naked and horny and sticky and sore in his lap. She was still too dazed to argue. “I just decide what happens and what doesn’t happen. You can ask, but I can choose not to give you what you want.” He kissed her forehead. “You took a lot for me tonight. I’m impressed.”
Warmth flooded through her at his praise.
But . . . that was it? They were done?
She felt . . . befuddled? Numb. Floating. Like the aftermath of an intense orgasm without the orgasm. So weird.
Unless there was a secret code for getting this guy to put out, it seemed like he was done with her. He looked very pleased with himself, like he’d already gotten everything he’d wanted from her, despite the bulge digging into her ass.
The beating had been cathartic, but the sexual frustration just made her confused. She’d expected sex, or at least an orgasm.
A wave of exhaustion and humiliation swept over her. She’d begged to come. She’d never begged a man for anything, and now this man she barely knew had seen her at her very lowest. Humiliation—hot and biting, stung her eyes. He’d shown her exactly what was behind her self-control and focus, and it was just as brutally ugly as she’d always feared.
She’d never been anything special, but at least she’d had some dignity.
Now she didn’t even have that.
He didn’t actually want her, he just wanted to torture her. Probably to bring her down a peg. Now he was just calming her down enough to send her home.
God—the things she’d let him do . . .
Awkwardly, she scrambled out of his lap and to her feet.
“I need to get going. It’s probably late.” She gathered her clothes—the outfit she’d thought she’d looked cute in. What a joke. He still had her panties, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask for them back.
“You need to stay here, Juliet. Just for a little while, so I can make sure you’re okay.”
She wasn’t fucking okay, and the last thing she wanted to soothe her bruised ego with was this man’s condescending mockery.
