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"You enjoy taking cock into your mouth, do you?" he asked.
"I do."
From the chest of drawers, he selected a dildo, shorter but thicker than the others, and a leather collar. Returning to her, he put the dildo at her lips. “Open your mouth”
“What of the safety word?”
“Did you not want the full experience of Master Ashley?”
She parter her lips. Fitting the false cock into her mouth and wrapping the collar over her mouth, he created his own unique gag for her. He could see she struggled not to choke on the false cock. It stretched her succulent lips. He was tempted to kiss her but stayed himself. Assessing the alarm in her eyes, he decided there was room for more fear. He found a linen hood and pulled it over her head.
Leaving her bound, stuffed and deprived of sight, he went to peruse the various striking implements upon the wall. He had not used these in some time. He picked up a flogger with over a dozen suede tails and whipped it against the arm of a wooden cross. From the corners of his eyes, he saw her jump at the sound. He undid the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up his arms. For several minutes he practiced his aim with the flogger. The swish of the tails brought back memories. Beautiful memories.
Replacing the flogger, he took up a long cane. He slammed it over the top of the table. He thought he heard her whimper. Once more, he practiced his touch, testing his abilities to apply the cane with force and restraint. Giving himself a respite, he poured a glass of port. He drank it leisurely as he studied Lady Pennington. He watched the rise and fall of her bosom. She should have left him alone—paid him no heed—though he supposed he ought be flattered by his attentions. Any man of reason would have welcomed her seduction. But his plans held no room for her, and he had the sinking feeling that she could turn his world topsy-turvy. He could not permit that to happen.
Taking up a rattan cane about thirty inches long, he struck it against his palm and then the side of his leg. She wriggled against her bonds. Walking over to her, he gazed at the area between her legs. She had a lovely cunnie graced by a thatch of curls that matched those on her head. Was that new moisture he beheld at her cunnie?
He touched the tip of the cane to the inside of her thigh, where it met her pelvis, and drew the cane up till it came to the rod holding up her legs. He tapped the cane lightly back down her inner thigh. He teased her folds with the tip, drawing a muffled moan. The scent of her desire wafted through his nose, heating his blood. With his hand, he cupped her mons and thumbed her clitoris. She made an unintelligible sound. His thumb rubbed and played with her rosebud. Her fingers tightened over the arms of the chair. After arousing her for several minutes, he withdrew his hand and brought the cane against her inner thigh. She cried out, mostly in surprise. He tapped the cane against her before dealing another quick slap.
“See that you do no lean too far back or you will tip over the chair,” he cautioned before raining several more strikes upon her thighs. When he felt he had mastery of the implement, he dared to strike closer to her cunnie. She grunted each and every time, but her cries became shrieks when he grabbed her toes and applied the cane to the bottom of her foot. He stopped when she started to gag on the dildo. Removing the hood, he yanked the collar down past her mouth. She coughed out the dildo.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered when she could speak.
Holding the chair still with one hand, with the other he covered her cunnie and felt the heat emanating from there. He caressed her folds, and slid two fingers along either side of her clitoris. She moaned softly. Her cunnie clenched as if asking for attention. He granted it, sinking a digit, then two, into her slit. His cock reared. She was so deliciously hot and wet. Curling his fingers, he stroked the inside of her womanhood. Her head fell back against the chair. He gazed upon her countenance to see her lashes fluttered erratically, her mouth parted by panting, and desire furrowing her brow. She was beautiful to behold.
But he ought not reward her. Not a woman who had threatened his family. She whimpered when he withdrew his hand.
“Did you think I would permit you to spend so easily?” he asked. He wiped the wetness of his fingers across her cheeks. “The odds of you spending at all tonight, m’dear, are quite low.”
He exchanged the rattan cane for a crop and resumed striking the back of her thighs.
“You have been more than naughty, Mrs. Pennington,” he said between blows. “Only the most wicked and depraved sluts would seek the return of Master Ashley. Are you such a slut?”
“Answer me,” he added with a stinging wallop of the crop when he received no response.
“I am! For you, Master Ashley, I would be the most wicked and depraved whore there is.”
He pressed his lips into a grim line. He had sought to put her in her place, but she had turned his intentions back on him with her answer.
“But you are more than that, Mrs. Pennington. Your ill-behavior shows a lack of consideration for my family and a blatant disrespect of my person.”
“I didn’t—”
She caught herself. He wondered what she intended to say, but he was too angry to care much.
“Would you not agree that such behavior—the use of extortion to force a man’s hand—deserves the severest of punishments?”
She lowered her gaze, then yelped when the crop landed between her thighs. He slapped her cunnie again. She squirmed. He struck harder, knowing her arousal mitigated the pain, but she cried out still.
“You are a willful and corrupt woman, Mrs. Pennington. It leads me to question your breeding. Perhaps you were not disciplined enough when you were a girl.”
He held onto the chair while he whacked her several times. Her wails were loud and rang in his ears, causing his blood to flow with more urgency.
“Punish me, Master. Discipline me,” she cried. “I have been, as you say, wicked, naughty, corrupt.”
Heat flared through him. He rained the crop down on her.
“Yes, yes! Thank you, Master!”
