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The length of rope flicked out, rasping lightly across her ass cheeks. She gasped, more surprised than pained.
“You’ll do everything I demand anyhow, or I’ll see you walk the plank.”
A delightful tendril of fear skittered up her spine, her skin turning icy. Her nipples tightened into hard buds, from the cold, her growing excitement, or both.
Rikard’s gentle hands placed the restraints around her wrists, testing the fit and ensuring that her shoulders were not pulled too severely. Then he wrapped the length of rope around the restraints, not tying it, but letting the rough hemp brush against her wrists and forearms. Her mind transformed the padded restraints into heavy loops of rough rope.
He circled around her, admiring her naked body. Gayle held up her head and stood rigidly beneath his examination.
“Yes, you’re a proper lady. I can tell. But you’re my prisoner now. I’ll break you of that soon enough, and have you begging and moaning like the commonest of gutter trash.”
She tipped up her chin in defiance. “Never! I am a lady, Captain. And nothing you do to me will make me less of one.”
He sucked in a deep breath, a slow grin lighting his face. “I do love a challenge. But I can’t have you disagreeing with me. This is my ship, and what I say goes. If one of my crew dared to contradict me as you’ve done, it would be twenty lashes of the cat, until he learned to keep a civil tongue.”
Rikard stalked closer, his gloved hand shooting out and gripping her chin in a firm hold. She couldn’t pull away or twist out of his grasp, but his fingers merely rested against her skin rather than digging into her flesh.
“But I’ll forgive you this time, if you beg. Get down on your knees and beg me not to whip you.”
Gayle stiffened her back, completely lost in character. “A lady does not beg, Captain.”
He laughed, deep and low in his throat. “Right. It’s the cat for you, then.”
Grabbing her by her upper arm, he dragged her over to a waist-high bench, and bent her across it. He loosed the rope and unlinked the wrist restraints, then pulled her arms out to the side, clipping the restraints to rings at the top and bottom of the bench. Gayle tried to lift her upper body, and found herself unable to move. She had never felt so completely helpless.
Hot fluid gathered between her legs. When Rikard slipped his booted foot between hers and kicked her ankles apart with a gentle nudge, flattening her completely against the bench, a trickle of fluid coursed down the inside of her thigh.
He moved away, returning a moment later swishing something back and forth through the air with ominous snaps. Narrow strips of leather trailed across her shoulder blades.
“This is the cat. Twenty strips of leather, each with an edge sharp enough to rip open that delicate skin. And you’re getting twenty lashes with it. You’ll be nothing but a bloody wreck from your graceful neck to your sweet, tight ass. Sure you don’t want to beg?”
Gayle trembled. Rikard wouldn’t really slice her back open. She remembered his desperate panic in the kitchen when he feared he’d hurt her. But stretched across the bench, the lashes of the cat sweeping back and forth across her quivering skin in teasing caresses, she had trouble believing she was not at the mercy of a bloodthirsty pirate.
“Never,” she whispered.
“One.” The whip rose and fell, the tips of the lashes flicking across her shoulder blade before the body of the cat smacked her upper back.
Gayle cried out in shock and surprise. She hadn’t expected he’d hit her with no warning. But it hadn’t hurt.
“Two.” The lash tips flicked across her other shoulder blade, followed by the heavy smack of the body.
“Eighteen more to go. Are you certain you don’t want to beg?”
“Do your worst!”
Rikard laughed again, the low sound chillingly unlike his normal melodic laughter. The cat smacked her shoulders over and over, as Rikard counted his strokes.
“That makes ten.” He trailed the whip’s lashes down her sensitive spine. “Halfway there.”
“You’ll never break me, Captain.”
“Your skin is a lovely shade of pink, blushing like a virgin bride’s. Where else could my whip touch you? Where else are you a virgin?”
The lashes stroked down, feathering across her ass, and tickling her crack.
“Are you a virgin here?” he whispered, one leather-clad finger following the path of the whip to press lightly at her hole.
Gayle moaned, her ass clenching tightly in reaction to his invading finger. What would it feel like to have him press his finger not just against the entrance, but actually inside? Two fingers? His cock, slicking in and out of her ass?
