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A jolt of shame went through me, so strong that it felt for a moment like my whole body had caught fire. Christian hadn’t spoken in an accusing or a stern way, really—not even in a disappointed sort of voice. He hadn’t even suggested, in his tone, that I might receive extra lashes for my failure to follow an instruction he hadn’t given.
My keeper had spoken, though, in a way that suggested that any fuck toy worth the effort of subsidizing her and training her to please a man’s cock should know not to wear her panties inside her suspender straps. Obviously the man to whom she belonged would want those panties to come down easily when the time came to discipline her and use her.
If I had actually thought about the matter as I donned my shameful lingerie, Christian’s even voice suggested, and remembered that his one rule for me comprised, really, only remaining constantly available for his pleasure, I would never have thought otherwise. What if he had wanted to make me take off my panties in the restaurant, for instance, and give them to him?
Even as I gazed back into those steady eyes, lost for a moment in the reverie of humiliation into which his words had thrown me, though, I saw him move, reaching for me. At the feeling of his left hand on my back, just above my tailbone, I jerked out of my shameful daydream. I let out a little cry of alarm and shame as he pulled the thong down as far as it would go, to the middle of my thighs, in a tangle at the tops of my white nylons.
“Arch your back,” he instructed. “Head up and bottom up. Knees further apart. Offer me everything.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. It didn’t sound like a refusal, even to me—especially because at the same time I breathed the words I had begun to obey the terrible command. I felt the air on my private places. I felt the tug of the horrid adhesive on my sealed pussy lips. I watched the girl in the window furnish her poor bare bottom for the belt’s fiery discipline.
Christian had withdrawn his hand, but now, to my dismay, he moved it back between my thighs. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could feel it, because it tugged a little at the panties stretched between my legs. He rubbed the gusset of the thong between his fingers, and my face felt like the surface of the sun.
“You got these very wet, didn’t you, Rebel?” he asked.
I bit my lip, gazing back into his eyes in the window’s reflection. I knew I had to answer, or my punishment would be much worse. And, I found with a thrill of shame in my chest that made my nipples tingle in the lacy bra, I wanted to answer.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
CHAPTER34
Christian
I moved my left hand to Leah’s back, where the garter belt crossed her spine so very enticingly. I extended my fingers and applied just enough pressure to instruct my rebel that she must remain as still as she could while I whipped her.
She replied with one of her little whimpers, the kind of noise that seemed to send a shockwave of dominant arousal through my system, straight to my iron-hard cock. I looked down intently, taking in the gorgeous sight of her smooth, closed pussy and her adorable little anus framed in the suspender straps, the panties, and the lacy garter belt with its seductive suggestion of bondage. Feeling Leah’s beautiful green eyes on me in the window’s reflection, I raised the belt three-quarters of the way to shoulder height.
My marvelous rebel gave another whimper, this one softer and more fearful. I turned my eyes back to the window and met her gaze once more. Leah’s facial expression seemed to tell me everything a Selecta biometric report claimed to reveal—more, even. She needed my firm hand, my strict discipline, more deeply than she had yet discovered, her eyes told me… but they also said, in the furrowing of their brows, that she had definitely begun that discovery. These last two days, spent with her pussy sealed by her master, had produced precisely the result I had intended: my rebel trusted that I would take care of her with skill and affection as well as with severity when she disobeyed.
“Push your bottom out further, Leah,” I told her, my voice a little husky with my arousal. I accompanied the words with gentle pressure on her back, to help her learn how to present herself for punishment. I felt her yield, and I turned my attention back to her bottom in time to watch the sweet bud of her anus contract with a tiny, fearful movement as she sensed how very exposed that most secret of passages had become—and perhaps as she remembered my promise to claim her there tonight.
I brought the belt down, snapping its doubled leather hard across both Leah’s cheeks. The sound rang sharply off the walls of her apartment. My arm had started its second downward motion before she cried out. By the time I delivered the third lash, a little lower down than the first two, Leah had started to have trouble holding her position: her back had bent upward and her head had gone down as her backside attempted a futile escape forward, as if she could get it out of range of the punishing stroke.
“Rebel,” I told her firmly, “get yourself back in position.” I moved my left hand to curl my fingers around the deliciously silky skin of her hip as well as the thrillingly lacy garter belt. I held her firmly and I kept whipping her quickly reddening bottom, using quicker, sharper strokes. “These… don’t… count,” I told her. “They… only… count…”
Leah had begun to sob and shriek, thrashing her head from side to side and beginning to shake her lovely copper hair loose from its bewitching chignon. “Okay!” she cried. “Please… it hurts so much…”
I felt her trying to offer her backside again, arching her back and raising her head. In the window I saw her eyes glint with new tears, her mouth turned down in the theatrical pout of a naughty girl getting what she earned.
“That’s it,” I told her. “Keep this bottom right here.” I started to whip her again.
* * *
Leah
It felt like Christian had set me on the back of a horse made of lava. My whole backside, ass and upper thighs, the whole area between the garter belt and the lowered panties and the suspender straps, burned with his stern correction as I rode that seat of fire. Each lash of his horrible belt renewed the agony, as if the steed of my correction had simply taken another stride in the endless punishment ride my master had sentenced me to.
I tried to move with Christian’s rhythm, to rock forward a little in hope of somehow lessening the impact of the doubled leather on my ass. His big hand grasped my hip more firmly every time, and my millimeter of movement only served to add tension to my muscles and make the lash more painful.
I knew, somewhere in my distant, detached mind, what my master sought from me. I had felt myself yield to his discipline twice before, and part of me wanted to try to feign that humiliating acceptance—as if I could win a secret victory that way, by pretending to give in. I simply couldn’t do it, though: my body kept resisting, every stern, echoing stroke of the belt drawing a full-throated scream from me.
Worse, I could feel it coming: the yielding that would satisfy my stern, brutal, loving master. I heard my screams growing fainter though the agony in my bottom and upper thighs remained. I couldn’t see the color Christian had turned my rear end in the window, but I couldn’t keep myself from picturing it: cherry red, from my ass-cheeks all the way down to my bunched panties. My keeper had marked his territory and ensured I would remember my lesson whenever I tried to sit down, for days.
He laid the belt very hard across both my cheeks. I tried desperately, one final time, to get away, and when I found myself held fast I let out a moaning sob and felt my body give in. The transformation seemed to wash over me like a cold wave from the Pacific. My muscles relaxed, and instead of fighting my correction, I tried to arch my back further and raise my head higher, hoping to please my keeper.
I heard Christian grunt softly. In the window I saw the corner of his mouth turn upward as he looked down at my bottom.
“Good girl,” he said. “Now your pussy.”
