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“Are you out of your fucking mind, you asshole?” I scream at him before I can stop myself.
He grins, and a cruel glee lights his eyes. “You are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? Five more.”
“No!”
“You haven’t called me Master yet. You might want to rethink that.” The light teasing tone in his voice is that of a joking lover. But he’s anything but. I hear the cane whistling through the air, the most horrible sound in the world, and it splashes bloody, agonizing fire across the back of my thigh, and my whole body convulses. He reaches out and squeezes my left butt cheek, torturing my seared flesh with his brutal grip, and I let out another screech of pain.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!Master!I’m sorry!” I scream.I’m weak. I’m disgusting. I hate myself so much.
He lifts my cheek and smacks the cane across the crease where my butt cheek joins my thigh. “Four more.”
I make a gargling sound of pure despair.
He repeats the motion on the other side, lifting my cheek to expose tender flesh before he strikes it. Then he moves down to the backs of my thighs, and my legs jerk like an electrocuted frog with each blow. My skin is soaked in flames. My throat is raw from screaming.
Finally, he finishes and shoves the cane in front of my face. Frantically, I press my lips against it. “Thank you for punishing me, Master,” I sob.
He uncuffs my ankles and spins me around to face him. My legs are too weak to hold me up, and I sag, my weight pulling on my wrists, and sob uncontrollably. The agony pulses with every beat of my heart.
He walks away and sets the cane down on a bench, then pulls a whip from the wall.
Five more.
“Master, no! Please! I’m sorry! Master!” Every time I say that horrible word, I hate myself more. It sticks in my throat, sending shudders of revulsion through my body. But I’ll say anything right now to get the pain to stop.
He stalks over, smiling as he holds out his new torture tool for my inspection. “Riding crop. It’s got quite a vicious little bite.”
All I can do is moan in despair. Begging won’t help. Nothing will help. What happened to the man who kissed his way down my stomach, the man who vowed to drive all memory of my stepfather from my mind, who made me feel almost safe, minutes ago?I want him back. Please come back.
He raises his arm and smacks my breast, and I learn the difference between a cane and a crop. This is a crisp, sharp razor’s edge of agony slicing across the delicate flesh. He slashes me three times on the right breast and twice on the left breast. I scream, my throat raw, my mouth open in an endless howl.
Then he holds it up for me to kiss, and I do, pressing my lips against the hateful braided leather handle. I’m sobbing so hard that I can barely speak.
“Thank you for punishing me, Master.” I choke out the words.
CHAPTEREIGHT
TAMARA
When he uncuffs my wrists, I sink to my knees. He towers over me like a vengeful god.
“Did you learn your lesson?”
“Yes, Master.” I sob out the words, hanging my head in despair, too ashamed of my weakness to look at him. I thought I’d be so much stronger than this.
He scoops me up, and I jerk in pain as he carries me across the room. Everywhere my whipped flesh presses against his arm, the agony is multiplied.
“Please, it hurts,” I whimper, and he starts to squeeze me hard. I arch my back as pain sears my body. “Master!” I scream. “Please, no more, Master!”
He relaxes his grip, and when we reach a padded table, he sits me down on it. “Lie down,” he says.
I groan as I obey him, lying face down and pressing my cheek into the cool leather. A minute later, I feel something cold on my butt, and at first I tense up, but then I relax as the pain fades a little bit. He’s massaging something into the whip marks that must be medicated, because the burn cools significantly. His gentle hands sweep over my skin, stroking numbing, soothing comfort into my flesh. I moan with gratitude.
He moves over every throbbing inch, and the feeling of his palms on my skin is the most delicious sensation I’ve ever experienced. His hands are broad and strong and talented; he knows just how much pressure to apply. I force myself to go silent, to stifle my whimpers of appreciation, because that’s just rewarding him for hurting me earlier. I just lie there, eyes clenched tightly, my face sticky with my shed tears, as his hands slowly move up and down my butt and thighs.
“Stand up.”
I slowly, carefully slide off the bed, my arms instinctively moving to hide my crotch and breasts. He frowns at me, shaking his head, and I drop them to my sides.
