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Swallowing, I do so, sticking my ass out for him as I know he likes. The soft thwack of his belt almost stops my heart. He trails a finger down my spine, and all my nerve endings burst into life. Then he stops, moves away, and something hits the bench, but I don’t look. I know him. He’ll punish more if I look.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now, I’m going to hit you twenty times, so I want to you count and tell me how bad you were after each one.”
“What—Ow!” He hits me, hard, and the shock of the pain shoots through me as I pull back.
“Rose. That didn’t count. Ass out. Count.”
He hits me again.
“One. I was bad.”
Humiliation stings my cheeks, and he moves, coming at me from the other side.
“Two! I was bad.”
It keeps going and going, and I’m crying, screaming out the words, each hit worse than before. I can’t take it; the way he has me sitting seems to make it worse. I’m so exposed, I’m—
“S-Sixteen, you bastard. I was so fucking bad.”
“Oh no, we’re dropping back to ten. For being a bad little Rose.”
Again. Again.
I’m slipping through the pain, down into something else, where the world unwinds down into the moment, where it’s just me and him and the pain that starts to turn to pleasure. It’s deep, throbbing, and I’m moaning, thrusting out to him.
He hits me again, and everything’s on fire, my clit throbbing. I’m on the verge. “T-Twenty. I was bad. Please let me come, Nikolai.”
There’s silence before he touches me, smoothing his hand over my ass. “So fucking hot and red. Look at those pretty welts. Fuck, and this…” He slips his hand between my thighs, pushing fingers into me, deep and long. “My Rose’s petals are wet like it rained. Delicious.”
He pulls out and takes hold of my hair. He stares at my face, wiping my tears as he pulls me off the chair and into him. The savage lust in his eyes says he’s not done as he kisses me gently.
“On the table. Tits up, legs up, feet flat, and hands above your hand. Now…”
He picks up a candle, dripping wax onto my already-heated skin, and I hiss at the unexpected bite of heat. He’s deliberate in where he does it; my nipples, belly, near my pussy. He drizzles a stream on my belly he smooths over me, satisfied when I give a gasping moan.
Without warning, he puts it down to grip my pubic hair, and I almost come from the pull on my flesh.
“I decided this has to go for our wedding.”
“I—”
“Don’t talk, Rose. Iwillwhip your pretty, wet cunt.” He pauses as he releases me then brings something over. “Let’s get started.”
The scent of beeswax hits my nose, and fear smacks into me. He’s going to wax me.
With the deliberation of a master craftsman, he applies the heated wax to my outer lips, sliding one finger into me. Then, as he pushes his finger down on my G-spot, he presses down the cloth and rips up.
I scream, more from the shock than anything else.
He presses down on the spot with his thumb, and then he shifts, examining, taking his time, slowly fucking me with his finger, building that throb in me. I’m a mess. I’m a thousand sensations at the same time, almost salivating for release, desperate for the next move. Another application of the hot wax, the rip and press, the finger fuck. Slow, deliberate, pure fire.
He repeats it all on the other side, and my insides are trembling, body humming, swimming with pain, pleasure, shock, need, want.
Finally, he strokes over the landing strip, all the way down to my clit, over and over, before he pushes into me with his fingers, curling them. He keeps this assault up, repeating until I’m almost begging for relief. My body tingles with need, the urge for that release, and then, he sucks my clit into his mouth and bites down lightly.
I scream as I come apart on his fingers.
“Oh,” he says, deadpan. “You bad girl.”
