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Chapter 8
Klaus
The next four strokes to her ass made her scream squeakily one more time, then choke out a whole row of little gasps and whines to the accompanying jerks of her stretched-out body. I watched her as she tried to get away. My grip on the cane trembled. Five. I’d hit her quite brutally. Deliberately so. An unholy need to see what this plain-looking stick could do to a woman had reared up and grabbed me. And wow, just fucking wow. Even if I never gave in to the temptation again, now I knew. I absorbed her pain as though it were the finest vintage wine. The camera was there too, with me. But that recording was not the same as this gut memory of her response.
She’d asked me to do this. Always, I kept that to the front of my mind. Not precisely this, but it was necessary for the charade. Though I knew that a part of me was also stunned at how easily I’d slipped into wanting to do this for other reasons.
I was too nice? Her earlier words resonated. Now she knew better. This was me as Mr. Not-so-nice.
I stared at her. My victim.
I’d thought of this me as a cave man. But no, this was more like a monster me.
Did every man have some version of a monster inside him, deep down? Maybe we just needed the right circumstances to set it loose?
I rolled my shoulders to work away the tension. I just had to remember where my monster hid so I could shoo it back into that place in my head when the time came.
Desire rekindled.
Walking softly, I went to her and ever so quietly put my palm on the curve of her ass, soothing her with sounds as I caressed her. Her gasps petered out. She swung her head and stared blindly and shook her head forcefully.
I breathed out slowly as I thought of my answer.
“No, Jodie. You don’t get to say when I stop. This pain is teaching you. Take it. Let it pass and remember next time, not to speak unless I say you can. Okay?” I drew the tip of the cane up the back of her thigh, stopping at the crease of thigh and butt. “Okay?”
After a pause, she nodded.
I closed my eyes. Yes. Another milestone.
I had to see the damage my strokes had made. With her struggles, the catsuit had rucked up higher onto her butt. The very hint of a red line peeked from under the cut cloth. My dick stood up and hardened as I examined her. I knelt behind her and inched first one side of the white fabric up to the highest curve where it would stick, all bunched up, then I did the other side, smiling at the red lines this revealed.
Her skin quivered and she croaked out, “Mm mmh!” through the gag.
“Was that a no? No noes, remember?” I leaned in and bit her once, delicately, over a line, and tasted salty sweat. Expecting a gasp of pain, I was surprised at the almost inaudible moan she let out. Arousal? I wasn’t going to touch her sexually. No, she would have to do that, but…
I went to the rope where I’d tied it at the wall and lowered her hands a little. Then I forced her thighs apart and bit along another cane line – one that was already a darkening bruise. Her whimpers and moans were a pretty symphony. This time, I bent down and looked along the seam of her sex. The cloth had rolled into a very moist, half inch wide section that had worked up into her cleft.
“I can smell you, sweetheart. See you down here. And I see you like the cane at least a little, maybe a lot.” To close in and lick her was so tempting I could taste her on my tongue from these few inches away. As I slowly raked my nails down her hurt butt, I exhaled warm air over her pussy. She clenched there and her thighs tensed, but she said nothing.
Concealing her reaction? It didn’t matter. She liked this…or something about it. Maybe not all the pain, but some.
I rose. Then I delivered another fifteen strokes at varying strengths, mostly lighter. The last two made her scream past the gag.
Fuck. I wanted to screw her. But no. Not yet. I wanted to make her ask me to fuck her, and I figured she didn’t like pain all that much, not yet. So getting her to beg while in pain would be the best result, ever. I could picture her doing it. I was going to make that come true.
I let her down, but kept her wrists linked and I massaged her arms and her legs while she stood there and shook.
But she didn’t speak. Not one word. Her obedience was amazing – so good, and after only two of my improvised lessons.
As I kissed and tasted the tears that had leaked from under the blindfold, I said in a harsh whisper, “I enjoyed seeing you scream and try to escape, loved seeing you dancing away from the cane. Your ass – I’d declare it a work of art. Yeah…” I touched our foreheads together and looked down over her face, stared into her blindfolded eyes, and at her trembling full lips and those amazing tears. I traced my finger down the wet track on one cheek.
My murmur was soft but as deadly, I hoped, as a knife thrust. “I never thought I’d say this, but I enjoy this. You might be in trouble.”
Truth and mind fuck rolled into one scorching bundle. Yes, she was in trouble, but then so was I.
I wanted to do it again. I’d saved her and cared for her so many times. She was a beautiful woman, with a mostly beautiful heart, and I wanted to hurt her and swallow those screams. God, I was so fucked up.
I removed the gag and gave her water, took her to the toilet and waited for her outside the door. Then I cuffed her hands again, sat her down on her mattress with the drink bottle, and gave her five minutes to talk to the camera. From her shifting about and the occasional hiss she made, her backside was stinging. Not surprising.
“Don’t touch the blindfold,” I said, backing out the door. “Drink some more, if you want to, or talk. That’s all.”
With the euphoria dying away, I sat on the couch upstairs with the TV screen showing the live camera footage. I watched her and I prayed she would say stop, and I prayed she wouldn’t. She didn’t say a single word. A few times she glanced up at the camera or above her and her mouth moved as if she would speak but, after a while, she just sat and stared at the floor between her legs. And she didn’t touch the blindfold. At the end of the five minutes, I looked at the circles of red where my nails had cut into my palms.
There’d been a time at the judo club when she’d shifted a ladder aside and a hammer some idiot had left on the top had hit her head. I’d seen her fall, unconscious. Praying she was okay, I’d rushed her to the nearby ambulance then followed when they’d taken her to the local doctor. Though she regained consciousness, she’d been sent to the mainland hospital for scans and tests. I’d stayed with her, taken half the next day off work so I could be with her and make sure she was okay.
What the hell was I doing?
She hadn’t spoken, but if she had, what would I have done? If she’d said, no more, would I have stopped?
I ran my fingers through my hair. This was how far I’d let this fantasy warp my imagination. That I even asked myself this was ridiculous. The answer had to be yes. Had to be.
