AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She didn’t have much time to marvel at his precision, though. Not when Mason almost immediately said, “I think that’ll do for a warm-up.”
Most Doms would say that in one of two ways—either in a voice positively dripping with lust and shared excitement, or in that hard Dom voice generally reserved for real punishments.
Mason St. John clearly wasn’t most Doms. The words came out cold and calculated, as though he was doing the math in his head to determine exactly how many strokes each of his slaves needed, and with exactly how much force to teach them the proper lesson. It sent a whole new kind of shiver running down Nell’s spine.
“Count your strokes aloud,” Mason ordered, still using the calculating tone that both confused and excited her. “If you miscount in any way, we start over, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Master.” Nell and Gemma said it in near-perfect unison.
“Very well. Time to continue.”
Everything that happened after that was absolute fucking chaos. The strokes rained down with incredible speed, faster than they could get the numbers out. Sometimes, the slapper hit in a way that left her skin hot and tingly, sending a line of pleasure straight to her clit, making her nipples ache. Other times, a stroke fell with such force it temporarily stole the breath from her lungs, forcing her to gasp out the number as best she could.
Three strokes to Nell, one to Gemma, two to Nell, five to Gemma, ten straight to Nell, four particularly harsh strokes to Gemma that left her sobbing. On and on it went like that, without any discernible pattern whatsoever. She was so uncertain, so terrified of what would come next, she tensed every single muscle in her body like she was a sprinter waiting for the starting gun.
Twice, the count had to start over. First, when Mason followed the line of a raised cane welt with lightning-fast strokes, all she could do was scream. The second time, Gemma got mixed up and called out Nell’s number instead.
The motherfucker was confusing them on purpose, and Nell sagged against the pool table as she cried, trying with a wild desperation to concentrate on the count as he systematically flayed her body and mind apart.
Nell felt like she was drifting away, almost like an out of body experience, when Mason finally stilled. This wasn’t subspace—it was something else entirely.
Gemma’s unbound hand slid across the distance between them, finding Nell’s. Fingers lacing together, Nell held onto the other woman like a lifeline, using that connection to ground her back in her body.
The leather slapper slid slowly around the circumference of their linked hands, with a gentleness that shocked Nell. She expected him to use the crop to force them apart.
“I see.” Mason’s tone gave nothing away as he continued to circle their hands with the end of the riding crop. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps this wasn’t a case of naughty, impatient little girls who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.”
Well...it kind of was at first if she was being honest. Gemma was stunningly beautiful, seductive in a way she didn’t know how to refuse, and Nell had longed to kiss and touch her. Far be it from her to refuse Gemma’s invitation to do just that.
But Nell wasn’t an idiot. She chose not to say any of that out loud.
“Since you two have obviously formed a genuine attachment to one another, it would be cruel keep you apart.” Taking hold of both women by the hair, he hauled them up into standing positions. With the absolute inferno of throbbing pain that made up her ass and upper thighs, Nell could spare little more than a wince for the rough handling.
Mason led them toward the card tables, kicking out a straight back chair and pushing Gemma down onto it. She shrieked as her abused bottom hit the seat, and a new batch of tears shone in her green eyes. Marching Nell around in front of the chair, he unhooked her cuffs from the garter harness one at a time, then pushed her down to her knees between Gemma’s spread thighs.
“Stay.” Mason looked them both in the eye, ensuring neither could claim they thought they weren’t included in the command.
As Mason stalked over to a credenza along the back wall, digging around behind its four identical doors, Gemma and Nell stared at one another. Too afraid to speak, they said everything they could with their eyes instead.
I’m sorry I got you in so much trouble.
I’d do it all over again if I had the choice.
So would I.
It means everything to me that I’m not alone.
How different her life with Micah might have been if Gemma—or anyone else—had been there with her. She wouldn’t have shrunk into herself for so long. Maybe, just maybe, she would’ve found the strength to leave him sooner.
Yearssooner.
Warmth flashed through her chest as she thought about her conversation with Holly that morning. About Mistress Freya, setting this whole thing up out of the kindness of her heart. About Rafe, the Manor’s Official Scary Dom, not only easing Nell back into the lifestyle, but easing her back intolife.
She wasn’t alone anymore. And she’d never let herself be alone again.
When Mason returned, a bundle of nylon rope dangled from one fist. Crouching down behind the chair, he tugged Gemma’s wrists together behind her back, tying them with an intricate knot. Two loops of rope extended from the sides of the knot, looking almost like wings.
While Nell tried to puzzle out what those were for, Mason held out both his hands, palms up. “Give me your hands.”
