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There’s a tension in the air as we descend into the dark, dank space together. Excitement races through me as I wonder if Camilla will have the same reaction to pain as she had the first time we came down here. And if she does, will I be able to hold myself back?
Once we’re in the basement, I glance at her to find she’s staring at the floor. Her lip trembling slightly.
“Shirt off,” I say, knowing that normally that order does nothing to me, male or female subject. And yet the idea of her half-naked in my presence makes me crazy.
Her brow furrows, but she complies, pulling the shirt over her head. I grit my teeth as she’s wearing a sports bra that is too tight, pushing her cleavage up in the most sinful way. Unfortunately, the bra will get in the way too and I can hardly believe the next words escaping my mouth.
“And the bra, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes widen. “Sir?”
“It will impede the whip.”
She swallows and turns her back to me for some privacy, reaching around and unclasping the bra. It drops to the floor below her.
My cock is harder than nails now as I stare at her bare skin, wanting nothing more than to paint it with angry red welts. And then once she thinks it can’t get worse, slice through her skin until she bleeds and then worship her with my hands, lips, and teeth.
I clench my jaw, shaking my head in an effort to clear the haze from my mind. This is no different from any other punishment I dole out, even if it is Camilla Morrone. A means to discipline and teach, not a way for me to get my rocks off or feed some sick fantasy.
I reach for the handle of my whip and pull it down from the wall, shutting my eyes and drawing a deep breath. Flexing my fingers, I get used to the familiar and calming feel of the leather bound handle in my hand. It brings me the calm I need as the sadistic thoughts had taken control.
I open my eyes. “Brace your hands against the wall and don’t move them. Otherwise, I’ll have to bind you.”
She steps forward, placing her hands in front of her.
And then I bring the whip down in a heavy arc across the center of Camilla’s back.
She cries out at the pain and impact, her legs trembling beneath her as she claws at the wall. It’s not a scream, but there’s pain in the sound. Anticipation coils through me as I wonder if I’m right about Camilla and her preferences, or whether I was mistaken three years ago.
My grip turns unnaturally tight as I whip her again. This time the sound is more of a mix between a cry and a moan, which makes my cock harder. The third time I do it, I groan as she presses her thighs together in reaction and there’s no doubting the pleasure in her cry as she takes my punishment.
“This is supposed to hurt, Miss Morrone. Why does it sound like it’s pleasurable to you?” I growl, lost in my sick fantasies.
I never speak to the students when I punish them, and yet I broke that rule with the one girl I certainly shouldn’t.
“What do you mean, sir?” she asks, her voice sweeter than honey.
I bring the whip down again, and her thighs rub together as she moans.
“You sound like you’re getting fucked rather than whipped.”
She gasps at that, glancing at me over her shoulder. Those honey-brown eyes are dilated so much so there’s barely a rim of brown. Dilated from the mix of pain and pleasure.
“Face forward,” I snap, not saying another word as I repeatedly bring the whip down over her perfect skin, leaving angry welts over it.
The sadist inside of me is lost to this, painting a picture over her unmarked, blemish free skin. Pain can be an art form, or at least, it’s always felt that way to me. Skin is my canvas and blood is my paint.
“Oh God,” Camilla grumbles as her thighs seem to shudder. And that’s when I realize she’s climaxed from the pain, as I see the wetness of her arousal dripping down the inside of her thigh.
The sight drives me insane and I use too much force this time; the whip comes down and slices through her beautiful skin, enticing a sharp whimper from her.
The sight of blood drives something wild and primal in me as I drop the whip, the need to touch her, smear the blood on me utterly intoxicating and impossible to ignore. And yet I have to remind myself she’s a student. Forbidden, off-limits and too damn innocent for me.
Camilla keeps rubbing her thighs together like the dirty little masochist she is, even after I’ve cut her open. Even after she’s had her climax.
I walk over to her, despite knowing it’s a bad idea. “You’re bleeding,” I say, my voice rough as I touch the wound.
She straightens suddenly, a tension in her body as she didn’t realize I was so close. “Sir?”
