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He was marking her. She quivered, held still, bit her lips so she wouldn’t safeword. After a few seconds, he released the pendants and slid them back around, his knuckles brushing her jaw. The pendants bumped against her breastbone, a light tickle, before the necklace stilled, dangling from her throat. Or mostly stilled. She suspected it would keep shimmering from the compressed urgency within her.
“That won’t be the first time I’ll do that. I’ll do it often enough they’ll make a permanent mark over time. You’ll know what that means, won’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He helped her to her feet. Her knees were already shaking again, and the flesh between her legs ached for his touch. Enough that when he put his hand there, she cried out and shuddered against him. He held her fast, one hand gripping her hair, the braid, her nape, as he kept stroking her clit and labia with measured movements. “Don’t you dare come.”
The only thing that saved her from that was standing upright, her legs spread. It made the climax hover on the edge. But when she was so close she knew the air alone could make her orgasm, he guided her to the cross. He positioned her hands on it, aligning her feet on the bottom pieces. The cuffs he put in place were again breakaways, but he reminded her of it. He also readjusted the standing mirrors so she’d see her back as he caned her.
He rubbed her shoulders, touching the tender spots the pendants and bowl had left. “My beautiful sub,” he said. “When this is done, I’m going to fuck you, Les. You’re going to feel my marks, inside and out. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, Master. Always.”
He went to the table and lifted the cane. He dropped two damp towels on the ground near her before he dampened the cane’s Kevlar wrap with his fuel mix. The nervousness she felt combined with everything else he was making her feel, and how damn aroused she was. Her hands curled against the cuffs, chains clanking.
He lit the cane up.
The flash in the mirrors made it seem like a sword. He stood to one side and started batting it against her thighs, her ass, her back. When he touched that sore spot from the bowl, she twitched, but it was all right. He moved up, down, upper thighs, behind her knees, then back to her ass, her thighs.
Thwack. The sudden harder hit made her jump. It was like a hot oil splatter, that sharp zing of sensation that shocked all the nerve endings, but unlike the recoil from pain that oil would cause, they seemed to straighten back up and strain for more of the sensation right after. She gasped, swallowed the safe word and gave herself to whatever came next.
Another series of more gentle impacts, then another smack, another zing of sharp heat. On her ass. She could see the flame dancing, saw him douse a spot with his hand as it flitted across her sensitized skin. She trusted him. Had no fear.
But God, he meant it. Whenever he struck her harder, it hurt. A punishment for wanting to be punished for the wrong reason. That was because he cherished and protected her, and she was his submissive. As her heart and soul opened to that truth, it brought her another. He would always reserve his worst, true punishments for things she did that disrespected that.
Because he cherished and protected her—because he loved her—he expected her to care for his sub accordingly.
“Oh…God…Brick…” When he hit her this time, it felt like a raw wound had been opened. She could take it, she could, but on the third one like that, a shriek came from her lips.
He stopped. He doused the cane with a quick rub of the wet towel over it, like a warrior cleaning the blade, only he was cleaning it of fire. He set it on the table, then he was there, the wet towel on her back, so blissfully cool, his wonderful hands, the pressure of them, behind the terry cloth.
“Do I have any skin left?” she rasped.
He spoke tenderly in her ear. “Not even broken,” he said. “But you’ll see the marks, doc. And that redness like a sunburn. I’ll tend to you with that vitamin E oil like I promised. I don’t want my sub to feel the wrong kind of discomfort. But you’re not done, are you?”
She wet her lips as he set the towel aside, freeing her leg and arm cuffs before he turned her around to face him. He gripped her wrists and lifted them above her head, arching her naked body up against his, her mound brushing his erection under his jeans. She made a needy sound and he pushed against her, a deliberate tease as he cuffed her arms above her head again. He left her legs free, so when he stepped back he could slide his hand between them. She moaned, a harsh sound.
“That’s my girl. So wet and ready for your Master, aren’t you? Answer me, Les.”
“Yes, Sir. Yes. Please…oh…” She moaned again, head dropping back as he became more insistent, flicking and pinching her clit.
Thank God, he opened his jeans then. He shoved them and his underwear out of the way before he gripped her hips, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around him. She winced as the cross piece behind her scraped across sore places.
“Can you take the pain for your Master, Les? A reminder of your punishment, of what you owe him and yourself?”
“Yes, Sir. Please…” She was begging again.
“What do you want? This?” His cock, the broad head, was pushing against her cunt, but his arms were locked, holding them in place.
“Yes, please.” She wailed it, her body shuddering. The mix of pain and pleasure were spiraling her right toward climax. She was going to come. She was going to go without him, and she would hate that, she wanted…
He slid into her, all the way to the hilt in one inexorable move that, despite her wetness, challenged her body to take all of his thick length in one go. She writhed, adjusting, needing to have all of him. He had her braid in his hand, his grip on her neck a clamp that held her to him, mentally and physically.
Her back felt like it was on fire, The mental image only pushed her closer to release. Her Master could put flame to her flesh. He could set her on fire in so many ways…
He’d gone still, lodged deep within her. “Now, Les. Come all over me while I hold you like this.”
She convulsed in his arms. The scream that tore from her throat was strengthened by how he watched her, held control. He made her believe there was nothing he couldn’t demand of her she wouldn’t give. In his arms, the world would always make sense, even when it didn’t outside of them.
