James sighed, nudging the cane, which he’d dropped to the ground, with the toe of one glossy shoe. “We got into the lifestyle together. She was the one who found out about Las Palmas, but joining—getting in—was a status symbol for her. We’d never been with anyone other than each other in BDSM play, and a year after we’d joined, and she’d put on the collar, things fell apart. We were pushing each other—using our sessions here to take out our aggression with the vanilla world. She started to fight me, push back, then accused me of being weak. So I’d take it up a level, try to be the Master she needed. Months would go by when we didn’t even have sex, here or at home, yet we were always covered in bruises, especially her.
“Then she started asking to play with other Doms. So I’d give her to these other men, most of whom were way more gentle with her than I was, and she’d seem to enjoy it, but when the sessions were over, she’d break down and start sobbing, begging me to protect her. The next weekend she’d quietly ask if I was going to give her away, asking in a way that I knew meant that’s what she wanted. And every time she’d come back acting like she’d been the victim of something. Once I even started a fight, accused another Master of abusing her. Right as I was about to throw myself at this guy I see her, out of the corner of my eye, sort of smiling, like she’s enjoying this, enjoying watching me defend her.
“When it finally fell apart, she accused me of using the collar as a cover up for domestic violence. Our breakup was messy, and the cops were almost involved. The overseers stepped in—they didn’t want anything about the club being mentioned in police reports. The last time I saw her, she threw the collar at me and called me a sick freak.”
Beth took a step toward him, only to be pulled up short by the chains. She wanted to touch him, to reassure him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I haven’t told anyone that story before, though plenty of people at Las Palmas know about what happened.”
“That’s why collar is on your hard limits list?”
“Yes. I’m one of the reasons Las Palmas has an alternative. There’s too much potential emotional baggage with a collar.”
Beth nodded. Partners or groups who wanted to be formally recognized as being in an exclusive relationship within the club had to be bonded. Often that meant collaring too, but bonding was actually a formal arrangement between the parties.
There were things she wanted to say, should say—that she was sorry for asking him to collar her, that if she’d known she wouldn’t have asked, that she’d never been happier as a submissive than she was with him.
But the words wouldn’t come, stuck behind a wall of awkwardness Beth would never lose, so instead she responded in a way she hoped he’d understand. Turning, she bent, resuming her position, waiting for him to continue caning her.
He didn’t react, and Beth’s stomach clenched with embarrassment and regret. Just as she was about to stand up, his hands cupped her hips. He stepped up behind her, and even through his pants she could feel the heat of his cock against her ass.
“Beth.” Her name was a plea, a pledge, on his lips.
“Yes, Master?”
He moved away, and she wasn’t surprised when she heard a faint whistle, followed by a line of fiery pain as he struck her for a third time.
This time she whimpered. “Thank you, Master.”
“Don’t. You don’t have to say that.”
“But I mean it.”
“Why?”
“Because I know after this you’re going to f*ck
me while you choke me and we’re both going to come. Then we’ll do something else, and we’ll come some more and I won’t have to worry about whether I’m pleasing you, or being a good submissive. That’s all I want, and everything I need.”
The cane struck again, this blow harder than all the others, and Beth screamed, throwing her head back, tears in her eyes, but the trembling that wracked her wasn’t just from pain. Then he was there, his big body huddled around hers, his now-naked hips pressed against her abused ass, one hand on her back keeping her bent forward, while the other slid around her neck, pulling her head up.
Beth sucked in air, trying to process all the things she was feeling—pain from the caning, arousal because he’d caned her, anticipation from his naked skin against hers, delicious trepidation from his hand around her throat.
His hips shifted, his cock finding its way to the entrance to her sex. Fingers tightened around her throat as he thrust in. Beth sucked in air—she could still breathe, but she couldn’t ignore or dismiss his hold on her, his control of her body.
Her p*ssy
clenched in pleasure as his cock filled her. He was long and hard, just what she needed inside her.
“Beth.” Still holding her by the neck, he used his other hand to jerk down the bustier until her breasts sprung free. Fingers closed over her aching nipples, plucking the tight buds.
“Master.” It was nothing more than a whisper, but he growled in apparent pleasure and started f*ck
ing her in earnest.
Beth was buffeted by sensations—pain and pleasure chief among them. It took her a moment to realize she was fighting him, not physically, but emotionally, so focused on sorting out what she was feeling and what was happening that she hadn’t given herself over.
All she had to do was trust him, give in and submit.
With a sigh she did exactly that—letting go of her anger at him, at herself. Releasing her worry and need to dissect what was happening.
“That’s it,” he whispered, as if he understood. Maybe he did. He knew her in a way no one else did, or ever had.