.
“I can smell you. I know how aroused you are. You should be terrified. A caning will hurt.”
“I know, Master James.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yes, Master.” But not of physical pain.
His hands, which had been roaming over her now-bare ass, paused, as if he heard the things she didn’t say.
Finally he stepped back. “I’m going to cane your ass. Then I’m going to f*ck
you as I choke you.”
The words were brutal, his plan containing none of the more obviously pleasurable elements of last weekend’s scenes.
The first blow of the cane landed across the middle of both ass cheeks. The cane was quiet compared to the crack of a paddle, the whistle and small thump barely audible before Beth screeched.
It hurt—not more than was bearable, but enough that she couldn’t stop herself from reacting.
Master James ran his fingers gently along the mark he’d just left. The skin was too hot for the touch to be pleasant, but when he wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her tight against his side as his fingers dipped into her p*ssy
, Beth forgot about the pain.
“You’re very wet, Beth.”
“Yes, Master James.” She moaned, arching her hips.
Two fingers stroked their way from her clit to the entrance of her p*ssy
and back, moving with maddening slowness.
“I could train you to come from the caning alone.” His voice was dark, the hand around her waist tightening. “I could bring you right to the edge of orgasm a thousand times, each time stopping to lay a nice welt on your ass. Eventually you’d be so desperate to come your body would use the pain as the final stimulus to push you over.”
One finger entered her, curling to rub against her g-spot. Beth spread her legs more, rocking against his finger as much as she could.
“Eventually your body would associate the caning with orgasm.”
Beth didn’t understand why he was telling her this. That didn’t seem like his brand of BDSM. Did he think that’s what she wanted?
“We could get so lost, so wrapped up, that it would seem okay, seem normal.”
The finger slipped from her p*ssy
, and before she could brace herself the cane lashed against her naked skin. This one was lower, striking the soft skin where ass met thigh at her “sit-spot.”
Again she screamed, this time dancing in place a little. Her underwear tangled around her ankles and she almost fell, but Master James again caught her, two fingers of his free hand sinking into her p*ssy
. He f*ck
ed her gently until her panting breaths of pain changed into a different kind of pant.
“I once trained a submissive to come when I used the crop on her inner thighs.”
“You did?” Beth couldn’t hide her surprise.
“I wouldn’t touch her except to tie her legs open and crop her. She’d come just from that. Then I’d put her on her knees, have her suck me off, and lock her in a cage. If she wanted to come again she had to beg me to beat her.”
His grip on her waist had tightened and, ignoring all the rules, Beth broke out of his hold and straightened, turning to face him, one arm pulled awkwardly across her chest. In the harsh spotlights, the lines of pain on James’s face were like gashes in his cheeks and forehead.
“James?” For the second time Beth failed to call him Master. This time it was out of concern. He didn’t look like himself—she had no idea what that expression meant, but it couldn’t be an indicator of happy feelings.
“The sub, the one I’m talking about, she wore my collar.”
“Oh.”
“And when we weren’t at Las Palmas, she was my fiancée.”
“Oh.” Beth puzzled that over. “I don’t understand.”
James’s gaze met hers, and slowly the lines in his face melted away, his lips curling up in a smile. “That makes two of us.”
“Your fiancée was your collared sub, and you trained her to come only when being beaten…”
Repeating it out loud didn’t make it any easier to reconcile the tale with the man she knew.