Tender Mercies

Ten


Asher watched through the window of his study as Grace worked in the garden and chattered on his cell phone to her friend. His hand hesitated over the old-fashioned window latch while he considered opening it and calling out to her, but he decided to leave her to her chat.

She was doing remarkably well. She’d had a few more dreams of beatings from Lucas, and each time Asher had taken her to the dungeon to remold and reshape the things running around in his pet’s brain.

The second time she’d had a dream, she didn’t fight him or show fear when he took her downstairs. She seemed grateful and relieved for the catharsis. Each nightmare only strengthened their bond as she came to count on and depend on him more. The nightmares had been gone for weeks now, though he still whipped and f*cked her regularly.

Darcy had faded to the background of his mind, her death a bad mistake and bad dream of his own. He still found himself comparing the two women, which only brought on fits of guilt. How could he allow his last pet to shrink even the slightest bit in his memory after what he’d done? It felt wrong to care for Grace so much, as if he was somehow cheating on Darcy.

No matter how long he’d lived on Eleu under its rules, a part of him would always frame things in the old vanilla way, with the old rules of how relationships were supposed to be done. In reality, he wouldn’t have been cheating on Darcy even if he’d had both her and Grace at the same time. That idea made him feel worse, because somehow he knew Grace would have been the favorite. He pressed his fingertips against his temples to block out the thought.

He couldn’t imagine the kind of bratty fits Darcy would have thrown to get his attention off Grace and back onto her. In this alternate reality, he imagined he would have sold Darcy to another man before he would have let her hurt Grace in any way. He would have ensured the new master was good and decent, but she still would have lost if it had come down to it. How could he let himself think this way?

Asher pulled the book out, and the dungeon door creaked open. Grace had come to trust he wouldn’t use the bullwhip on her, though it seemed to confuse her more as to its purpose, since he’d said the cane was for punishment. The symbol of what a foolish decision could cost had become too much to look at.

The whip was the last piece of Darcy that had been left in the open. All of her things had been packed away a little at a time in the months following her death. Most of that time was still a blur as he’d spent the majority of it so drunk the gaps in his memory resembled Swiss cheese.

His hand trailed lightly over the leather. He still couldn’t look very long at the blood on the tip. Every time he saw the weapon hanging on the wall, he thought of Darcy. At times, it took several minutes to get his mind on Grace. The person who was here. The one who actually needed him. The one he loved most even though it made him feel bad to compare. It also scared him. If losing Darcy like that had caused him to spiral so far downward, what would he do if anything ever happened to Grace?

He had to bury Darcy. For good. It was too much having her memory hanging over everything. At first he considered putting the bullwhip in the bottom of the toy box. But every time he went to get something, it would be there, poking its little snake-like body out at inopportune moments as he pawed through the other items in the trunk for a riding crop or paddle or nipple clamps.

No, it couldn’t stay in any space that was meant for him and Grace. The possibility of throwing it out or burning it crossed his mind, but he didn’t feel ready for that step. Instead, he stuffed it in the back of a hall closet––out of sight, out of mind.

Determined to not think about it anymore, he stopped by the kitchen, then went outside to meet Grace in the garden. She was so adorable he could eat her, and probably would a bit later. She was on her hands and knees on a quilt, digging in the garden. He was surprised by how good at it she was.

She’d taken the garden design books William brought her and created something that was nothing short of a work of art, with colorful patterns and designs more intricate than the patchwork quilt spread beneath her. She’d even taken into consideration how the garden would look at different times of the year. Though they didn’t have full seasons, a few of the plants went through various changes. She’d managed to make the garden flourish even though there hadn’t been as much rain and the crops weren’t doing as well as most years.

She wore a fitted, cotton top with thin straps that were falling off her delicate shoulders. Her denim shorts had been specially made with a small hole in the back through which a butt plug with a tail could be, and had been, inserted.

A headband with kitty ears held her hair back away from her face. He didn’t make her dress like a kitty anime girl all the time, but seeing her mildly humiliated did something to him. Asher kicked his sandals off and came to stand beside her. She leaned against his leg like she always did, and he stroked the back of her neck. Her limbs were so glowing and tanned it was hard to believe this was the same thin, pale woman he’d bought months before.

“Kitten, you need to drink something. You’ve been out in this heat too long.” He handed her a glass of lemonade he’d brought from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Master.”

He sat next to her while she drank, stroking her hair. “Lie down on your stomach,” he said when she handed the empty glass back to him. Her eyes didn’t even question anymore. Whatever he asked her to do, she just did it. And he never got tired of that lack of resistance. Her fear of him had largely disappeared, but her manner more than made up for the shift. Though she didn’t live in an active state of terror, there was an air of fragility around her that he wanted to protect.

When she was stretched across the quilt, he opened a jar of shea butter she’d brought with her but had failed to put on. “Are we falling behind on moisturizing?”

“I’m sorry, Master.” And she sounded it. The tiniest mistake, and he could practically hear the self-recrimination bumping around in her head. “I meant to, but I got distracted by the garden.”

His eyes shifted to the cell phone lying on the blanket. “And maybe talking on the phone?”

Asher hadn’t physically punished her with the cane yet. So far her minor infractions had resulted in writing lines or standing in the corner. Once he’d put a gag in her mouth with something foul tasting, but harmless, when she’d slipped and spoken a little too casually with him. It had been an effective punishment.

But he hadn’t used the cane, which kept her on edge any time she did something wrong, wondering if this would be the infraction that brought the full reality of punishment on her.

“I’m not upset with you. I didn’t give you a specific time to do it by,” he said. “Still, I like your skin soft for me. You know the sun dries you out, and I don’t like that.”

“I’m sorry.”

He started rubbing the shea butter over her legs and feet, and smiled when she let out a moan and squirmed. She’d be wet, of course. Any time he touched her, in even the most innocent way, her body responded, eager and ready to be f*cked.

“Grace, I have something important to talk to you about.”

She got very still, the combination of his tone and the use of her first name causing her to grow wary. There was no sense dragging it out. He might as well just say it.

“I’d like to brand you.”

Her head snapped around as she twisted to face him, that scared, pleading look in her eyes. God, it was so wrong, but he missed that look. It might be time to move them into edge play. His cock hardened, and if he didn’t want to actually talk the issue out, he would have f*cked her right here.

“Please . . . Master, why? What did I do wrong to deserve . . .?”

He gently but firmly pressed her head back down so that she was lying on the blanket again and started rubbing the cream on her other leg. “It’s not a punishment. I know I said I’d never leave permanent scars. This isn’t something I’ll make you do. I’ll let you choose. But it would really please me if you did it.”

She twisted so she could see him and bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

Asher laid her other leg down and started massaging the cream into one of her arms. “The type of branding we would use on you is called strike branding. It will hurt, but probably not as much as you think. We’ll heat hot enough to kill the surface nerves but not enough to reach the deeper tissue. It’s not a pain that will linger like a minor burn does. It’ll be sore during the healing process, but it won’t feel like a burn afterward. I’d hold you while the brander did it.”

He finished with her other arm and shoulders, then closed up the cream and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket onto which he’d drawn his estate symbol. “This is the symbol on the front door. Each estate on the island has a different one. The symbol is sometimes branded into slaves so others know which house she belongs to.” He wasn’t sure if she’d been exposed to enough other slaves to have seen a brand before. They weren’t all that common on the island. “A master only brands a slave if he intends never to sell her, because you get very little out of a girl that’s been branded by another man’s symbol. Do you understand what this means, Grace?”

“It’s like a promise? That I’m always yours no matter what?”

He smiled. She understood. “I won’t ever break a promise to you, kitten. Ordinarily I’d just do it, but I already told you I wouldn’t leave permanent scars. So think about it. I can get you some reading material so you understand more about what will happen and what the healing process will be like––”

“I want to do what pleases you.”

Asher pulled her up off the blanket and held her. “You’re such a good girl.”

***

Grace fidgeted in the back of the limo. Asher sat beside her in a crisp, white shirt with the first couple of buttons unbuttoned, jeans, and casual shoes that the islanders were fond of wearing. He seemed at ease; meanwhile, she was falling apart on the inside.

Why did I agree to do this?

From the moment he’d first mentioned branding, she’d loved the idea of it, but feared the reality. In theory, it felt like the strongest bit of protection he’d ever given her, the most firm oath that she would always be his, and she’d always be safe and cared for. But the reality of the pain involved had caused her to wake in cold sweats thinking of it.

Asher had believed it was nightmares of Lucas again, and Grace hadn’t corrected his assumption. She was afraid if she did, he wouldn’t make her go through with it. And she needed to. She needed to see his brand on her forever, as if that one carefully placed mark could erase all of Lucas’s careless marks.

Each time she woke in terror over the branding, he took her to the dungeon. She let the flogger fall over her, cried out her fears, and allowed herself to be taken where her master wanted her to go. She felt guilty he didn’t know the real reason for her upset, that he thought he was spanking her for a different reason, but she kept the truth inside.

In the weeks following his request, he’d stayed true to his word, giving her all the information she could need about the procedure and how it would all go down. But even so, she knew a few pamphlets could never prepare her for the burn of the branding iron.

She remembered times when she’d had minor burns and how the pain lingered on and on, feeling like it would never let up. And though Asher had promised the burning sensation would only last a few seconds and then be over, she couldn’t quite believe it. Logically, she knew what he said sounded right. Minor burns didn’t kill the nerve and that’s why it hurt so much. But a brand, done right, killed the nerve. Even with that knowledge, in her mind and dreams, the pain dragged on and on and there was no balm or soft words or flogger that could soothe it away.

“You can’t be comfortable like that. Lie down on my lap.”

She hadn’t been especially comfortable, no. He had her in full kitty mode. She wore a black leather miniskirt that had been sewn with the special hole for the tail. The plug was lubed and seated firmly inside her ass, the black fluffy kitty tail flowing out from the skirt. Her breasts nearly spilled out of a leather bustier. Her legs were covered with fishnets, and dainty black ankle boots were on her feet. She’d never say it, but she liked dressing this way for him.

The skirt rode low on her hips, leaving an expanse of flesh exposed for the branding. Gooseflesh popped over her hip, as if that part of her skin was taking the opportunity to get its last taste of something as simple as a cool summer breeze.

Her hair flowed loose down her back, held off her face with her kitty ears. She wore black fingerless gloves and her long nails had been painted white to resemble claws.

Grace settled her head on his lap and he petted her long, golden tresses, trailing down her back and over her ass. He ran his fingers through the fur of the tail, tugging it a little. She moaned.

“Such a horny little kitty,” he teased, dipping fingers between her legs.

She wanted to meow.

At first she’d been afraid he was going to have her do all sorts of weird stuff that wouldn’t be sexy at all. This kitten thing of his was definitely a fetish. Something he liked a bit more than just average. He seemed to get off on making her a little more animal-like, having her drink milk out of a bowl on the floor and making her beg for his cream.

He still hadn’t used physical punishment, and she was beginning to wonder if he ever would. He’d once put her in a pet crate like what one might take a large dog to the vet in. It was small and cramped for a human, and it freaked her out possibly as much as pain would have. But he hadn’t kept her in there long.

Her fears over the branding were compounded by anxiety over being out. They didn’t come to town often. Asher wasn’t punishing her by keeping her at home; he’d noticed her discomfort. He noticed everything.

After the way Lucas had treated her, going out seemed like an ordeal fraught with peril. She never knew how to behave and was constantly afraid she’d do something wrong that could somehow get her removed from his care. Asher had assured her such things didn’t happen on Eleu, but she still couldn’t make the fears go away.

The limo rolled to a stop in front of a tall, granite-colored building. The building was fancy and rich, and even though Grace knew this was where the brander’s office was, it was still impossible to believe. There really were no poor people on the island.

There was only the rich, and their help. But the help lived with the rich. There were restaurants with wait staff and stores and such, but these places were run by some of the families who were indigenous to the island. The same people who made the special salve. It was impossible to think of them as the poor of the island because they lived in the most intricately designed huts, such works of art that one could perhaps refer to them as bohemian, but never poor.

When you passed a native islander on the street, you never felt a sense of envy from them. These people spoke the language of the island’s volcanoes and ridges and plants. They knew the island’s weather and moods. If they thought the things the rich did were odd or immoral, they didn’t say anything. They seemed to take it all in stride, sharing the island, but maintaining a separate culture that outsiders weren’t welcome to participate in. So which group was the haves and which was the have-nots? It was impossible to say.

Grace looked back at the building and winced, imagining the brander as some hardcore sadist that got turned on by causing women high levels of pain, or maybe got turned on by leaving such permanent marks with full permission from their masters. She shook the thought away. Asher had promised he’d stay with her. He stepped out of the car and extended a hand to help her out.

She smoothed the miniskirt down. At least he’d brought her out during the day. It felt less scary to be in town in the bright sunlight, so unlike the dark basements and buildings Lucas had taken her to after dark. The skirt barely covered her ass, and she knew if she bent over at all, her bare, wet p-ssy would be on display for anyone who cared to take notice of it.

Her fingers trailed over the platinum collar, as if checking to see that it was still there. Asher attached a long, platinum chain to the collar and led her into the building.

There were a few other slaves in the lobby, most of them naked or wearing less than she was. Despite sticking out, Grace was comforted by more clothing. Still, it didn’t stop the men from leering, whistling, and making cat noises at her. She kept her eyes down, so she didn’t see what Asher was doing, but she suspected he glared at the men, because after a couple of seconds everyone fell silent and went back to what they were doing.

She let out a little breath when they were alone on the elevator. Asher pressed the button for the appropriate floor, then backed Grace into the corner behind him and slid his hand between her legs. She let out a mewl and rubbed her crotch against his hand. He chuckled at her wanton behavior and pointed to a camera overhead. She blushed but didn’t stop rubbing on him.

The brander was on the fifteenth floor, but they stopped on three. The doors opened, and a man got on. Grace watched his shoes as he shuffled onto the elevator.

“Asher,” the familiar voice said in that way men do when they recognize one another and nod.

That voice.

It slithered over her, leaving a dirty trail that no soap in the world could wash off. She felt her heart start to pound, the throbbing noise pulsing in her ears so loud it dwarfed the sound of Lucas.

She was glad to be in the corner with her master’s broad body blocking her in, acting as a shield. Her white fingernails dug into his side, and she hoped he wouldn’t be angry if she left nail prints. It took all her energy and concentration to make her breath go in and out.

“Lucas,” Asher said between clenched teeth. His voice was tight, and Grace knew he wanted the other man on the elevator with them even less than she did.

“How is the little slut? Obedient? Pleasing? If you’re having troubles with her, I can give you some pointers. She was always very afraid of me,” Lucas said.

She pressed her forehead against Asher’s back, the feel of his warm, broad body keeping her grounded. Without him there, she was sure she would drift away.

Asher took another step back. It pushed Grace flush against the metal corner. Instead of causing her to feel claustrophobic, it made her feel safer, more protected. All sides of her surrounded by metal and Asher Collins. The muscles in his back were poised like a big cat, as if he might sprout fangs and pounce on the other man at any moment.

“I don’t need any pointers, thanks. I believe I’ve got the situation under control.”

Grace could feel the tightly-coiled violence, how it waited like a living energy, ready to spring should Lucas make a move toward them.

“I only meant that I could help if you needed it. You don’t want to let her get out of control and forget which of you is the master. It seems somewhat questionable to me. I mean, she’s not even kneeling.”

Asher jabbed at a button on the column. Number five lit up, and the cramped metal box lurched to a stop.

“I believe this is your floor, Lucas.”

“My floor is twelve.”

Asher moved into the other man’s personal space, shoving him against the elevator wall. “Take. The. Stairs. I don’t want you near Grace. Ever. Again. I bought her to rescue her from you. You shouldn’t be allowed to own so much as a potted plant.” He held the door open while the other man stumbled off.

Grace huddled in the corner, her eyes closed, the tears inching down her cheeks. She opened them a fraction of a second too soon and caught Lucas’s dark stare as the doors slid shut.

Asher held her against his chest the rest of the way up, and the brief pause on twelve where no one got on and no one got off.

The doors opened on fifteen, and Asher led her down the dark green hallway to the last door on the right. Inside, they were greeted by a good-looking blond man with tattoos that banded around his throat and up and down his arms. He looked like a cross between a surfer and a biker, but it was obvious he was better off financially than the average member of either group.

The man took one look at Grace, then at Asher. “She looks terrified.”

Asher shook his head. “It’s not all about the branding. We ran into someone.”

The brander looked at her again, and she had to turn her gaze away from that assessing stare that seemed able to divine too much about her life from her eyes.

Asher directed her to a pillow on the floor, and she obediently went to it and dropped to her knees, glancing around the room to take in her surroundings. She hadn’t expected the environment in the brander’s office to be so soothing. It was as if they were there to get her hair styled instead of put a permanent scar on her. Everything was just so . . . clean.

The men spoke in hushed tones a few feet away. Every now and then she heard her name. It occurred to her that Asher knew this man, that they were perhaps friends. The blond had a kindness to his eyes, much like her master, and Grace felt calmer.

“Are you ready, kitten?” Asher stood over her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, Master.”

“It’ll be five seconds of pain, then it’s over except for the soreness. You can handle that. And I’ll hold you while John does it.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Five seconds could be a very long time when the time was filled with pain.

They led her into another brightly lit room, and Asher handed a metal disk to the blond.

“This is nice,” John remarked, admiring the estate symbol. “It’ll make a clean design.”

She watched as the branding iron was heated, everything matching the pamphlets she’d been given to study. As the iron grew hotter, so grew her trepidation over her choice.

“Normally, we chain them down for this, but I know you can hold her still.”

Those words lodged in her stomach like a stone, making it impossible for her to move without her master’s assistance.

“Put your arms around my waist, kitten, and hang on tight.” When she’d obeyed, Asher wrapped one of his arms around her back, holding her steady against his body, and with the other he cradled the back of her head. “Just breathe, baby. It won’t be as bad as you think, I promise.”

John moved behind her with the heated metal. A moment later, the searing heat was in her skin, melding with her and sucking the breath from her lungs. She let out a wail and almost vomited at the smell of her own burning flesh. The smell triggered her self-preservation instincts, and if her master hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she would have struggled. Why did I say yes to this? She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to breathe through the pain.

As if reading her mind, the blond said, “It won’t get any worse, and in a few seconds it’ll get better.”

“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .” Asher said, steady and strong. He held her tight while she cried. The blond took the metal away, and unbelievably the burning sensation was gone. The skin around the mark felt tight and sore. But it was a kind of pain she could handle. Asher released her and brushed the tears off her face. “You were a very good girl. Come to the mirror and see my mark.”

He took her to the mirrored wall. Her breath caught when she saw his estate symbol on her hip. Somehow she hadn’t believed it would happen. He really wasn’t going to ever sell her. A small smile curved her mouth as she stared at the brand.

John was giving Asher instructions for care and information on healing time, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mark on her hip.

“Do you like it?” he whispered, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.

“Yes, Master.”

“I’m so happy you did it.” He clicked the leash back around her collar and led her out of the office. They didn’t run into Lucas again.

***

Something was unsettling Asher. It had bothered him for the week since the branding. Grace had stopped having nightmares.

It wasn’t the fact they’d stopped, it was why they’d stopped. It didn’t add up. He’d believed his pet’s bad dreams were the lingering remnants of Lucas haunting her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t the dreams only start back again stronger after their brief run-in with her former master in the elevator?

He wanted to test a theory, and he hoped he was wrong. Grace was in the garden. She didn’t have a single pair of denim shorts without the hole for the tail, so she was sporting the kitty look. He slipped up behind her, careful not to startle her, and tugged the tail a little, pulling it loose from her ass and then pushing it back in. She dropped the garden trowel and let out a delicious whimper, going to her hands and knees, thrusting her ass up at him, begging for more contact.

He’d been surprised at what a dirty little anal slut she’d turned out to be. Once he’d shown her how pleasurable it could be when done right.

As much as he’d like to play with her, there was something he needed to know first. “Grace?”

She stopped wriggling immediately and turned to face him, sitting back on her knees now with her legs spread, the way he’d taught her to kneel for him.

“Yes, Master?”

“Do you remember the last round of bad dreams?”

She nodded, a wary expression on her face.

“What were they about? Don’t even try to lie to me.”

The way her eyes widened, he knew he’d caught her. Even if she didn’t say the words, he knew. The only thing left was to determine what was to be done with her. Still, she tried to stall.

“What do you mean?”

“Kitten, you really don’t want to go down the doe-eyed road with me. Tell me what they were about.”

She looked down at the quilt, wringing her hands in her lap. “The branding,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

His jaw clenched. Beneath the anger was hurt that she’d undermine what they had with silent lies. “You allowed me to believe you were dreaming about Lucas. You know that’s why I was taking you to the dungeon and flogging you. Why didn’t you tell me what the dreams were really about? Why would you hide that part of yourself from me?”

She sniffled, and Asher wanted to backhand her. How dare she make a bid for mercy, playing on his feelings for her after she’d lied to him, knowing full well how she was misleading him.

“Well?”

“I . . . I’m sorry. I was afraid if you knew how scared I was about the branding, you wouldn’t do it. You said it was my choice, and I thought if you knew about the dreams you’d think I wasn’t sure and you’d change your mind or let me back out. I didn’t want to be weak and back out.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Could he really be mad at her when her subterfuge had been because she’d wanted to wear his brand so badly?

He sighed and she looked up.

“What are you going to do?”

He just looked at her. She knew what he was going to do, but he said it anyway to leave no doubt. “Physical punishment.” The wind seemed to carry his words far out to sea. “There will be no lies between us, Grace, not even the unspoken kind. Wearing my collar and my brand means every part of you belongs to me, including what goes on in your head. Come with me.”

He felt her shaking behind him as he led her into the study, pulled the book out, and guided her down the stone steps. He’d been aroused after the branding, the last time she’d been this scared. The moment they’d gotten home, he’d taken her to his room and proceeded to use every toy at his disposal on her hot little body.

He fully intended to repeat those actions today, but this time, he’d finally punish her first. In truth, he didn’t like hitting for punishment. He much preferred to turn that kind of pain into an erotic torture that would make her beg him to take her deeper into it. And once he’d punished her, he’d move her into that space again.

She didn’t have to be told to go to the cushion. She just went and knelt on the large, fluffy pillow, waiting for instruction. Asher set up the table with toys and instruments of pain, then he covered her eyes with a blindfold.

“Master, please, I’m sorry,” she whispered, the tears spilling out from under the dark cloth.

“I know you are, kitten. But you still have to be punished. I told you this day was coming. When I’m finished with you today, you won’t withhold anything from me. If you think I’m misreading your feelings on something, you’ll take the opportunity to correct my assumption. You will not go about with secret thoughts and feelings and fears. There will be no doors closed to me that I want left opened. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Offer me your wrists.”

She took a shuddering breath and held her arms in front of her. He took a length of rope and wrapped each of her wrists individually, then went to work, tying intricate knot work.

When he was finished, he pulled her to her feet. She didn’t struggle, but stumbled a little as he tugged her forward. When he got her where he wanted her, he looped her tied wrists over a hook that extended down from the ceiling. The movement forced her to go up on her toes.

“I’ll be right back,” he growled in her ear, sending a shockwave of anxiety through her that he could almost smell.

He returned a few minutes later with a pair of heels from her closet. He slipped the shoes on her feet to make up the height difference. As much as he enjoyed watching her up on her toes, he wanted her standing solid and level for this.

She jumped when he cut her t-shirt and bra off with a pair of scissors. Then he removed the tail and slid the shorts down her legs. He stood back for a moment to admire her, naked except for the ropes binding her wrists, the blindfold, and the black and white heels on her delicate feet. Next, he retrieved a spreader bar from the toy chest and locked her ankles into it so her legs were spread wide.

“How scared are you, kitten?”

“Please . . .”

His hand landed solidly across her ass, leaving a loud smacking sound and a red imprint with the outline of his fingers. “I didn’t ask you to beg. I asked you to tell me how scared you are right now.”

“As scared as I was the day you took me.”

His hand fell on her again. “What did we say about lying, Grace?”

“I . . . I’m not lying, Master.”

“Perhaps not. But you’re misremembering, at least. You were broken then. I don’t believe you’re that scared now. Do you trust me not to harm you?”

She only hesitated a moment before she nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Then it’s not like that day, because you didn’t have any certainty in my ultimate goodness to fall back on that day. I’m going to hurt you. But I’m not going to harm you. Why do I have to hurt you today?”

“Because I wasn’t honest about my feelings. I let you believe things were happening in my head that weren’t happening and kept secrets about what was really going on.”

He stroked her flank. “Mmm-hmm. Do you know why that will get you hurt?”

She was still and quiet for a moment, and he knew the only response she had was something along the lines of “Because I said so.” Wisely, she chose not to say it.

Asher sighed. “Because if I don’t know what’s going on in your head, I can’t be a good owner. I need to know where you are at all times, physically and emotionally. If something has you scared or upset, I need to know about it. You knew I didn’t know what was really going on, and you were experiencing distress I didn’t know anything about. You may have had your reasons, but it should have been left to me to decide how to handle your fears over the branding.”

He picked up the cane and brought it hard across her ass. He smiled as she shrieked and jumped, the tears flowing faster down her cheeks.

“Tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry Master.”

“After each stroke of the cane, I want you to say: ‘I’m sorry I lied, Master. Thank you for teaching me.’ ”

“How many?”

“Until I think the lesson has been driven home.”

The welts he laid on her ass came down in beautiful, perfect lines. The music of her screams and the obediently repeated verbal offerings drove him into a frenzy. When he’d marked the whole of her ass, he moved down her legs, then took advantage of the spreader bar to give her a few sharp raps on the inside of each thigh. That elicited several pained howls.

Finally, when she was shaking so hard he knew it was only the hook and the heels that left her upright, he put the cane down and stepped back, admiring his work.

“Well, kitten, you survived your first physical punishment. If you behave like the good girl I know you can be, these types of visits to the dungeon will be rare.”

Grace flinched as he ran his fingertips over the heated welts. Then he got down on his knees behind her and trailed his tongue over each of them, causing her to shiver. He fingered her wet slit and tongued her, lapping at the liquid dripping from her p-ssy. Before she could come, he stood and pressed himself against her back, his lips grazing her ear.

“If I let you down, are you going to be a good little whore for me?”

“Yes, Master.” She let out a pained hiss as she pressed her ass against him.

He chuckled. “Already forgetting the welts I just left on you?”

“N-No, Master.”

His hands came around to her front, kneading her breasts and tweaking her nipples into hard little points. Then came the nipple clamps. Her crying had stopped until he put the clamps on, then the sobbing came back. It seemed half was in response to sensory overload and half was in anticipation of what might be coming next.

He unlocked the cuffs and took the spreader bar away and removed her from the hook. “Go get on the spanking horse.”

She whimpered at the order, but she went, too scared to defy him with so many cane welts lining her ass and no unmarked spaces left for him to hit. He hadn’t bothered to untie her wrists yet. She struggled up onto the spanking horse, straddled it, and allowed her bound arms to fall over the top end of the bench.

He flipped the switch and smiled at the way she bucked against the vibrations, grinding her hot little cunt against the vinyl, trying to come.

“Pace yourself, kitten.” He had no intention of letting her have a quick come and roll over to sleep. He intended to use her until dinnertime, which was still another hour away.

As she rocked and rubbed against the bench, Asher massaged lube into her ass, finger-f*cking her tight hole. He wasn’t sure which she liked more, having something in her ass or having her * vibrated. After a few minutes of her lovely begging, he replaced his fingers with a narrow glass toy, working it in and out of her.

“Please . . .”

“Please, what?”

“F*ck my ass.”

“You’ve got fresh welts, kitten. If I f*ck you, my body pounding against them will hurt.” Those words only made her wetter.

“Master, please.”

He laughed. “Well, you can’t say I wasn’t trying to be merciful.”

He stopped teasing, lubed his cock, and seated himself fully inside her. She whimpered and writhed as he started moving. Her head was turned to one side, and he watched the confused play of emotions across her face. The feeling of his fullness inside her ass, the pain of the welts being repeatedly bumped, the intense pleasure of the vibrations as each thrust pushed her thighs apart more and caused her * to make harder contact with the padded bench.

“Come, kitten, and I’ll empty inside you.”

She let out a guttural moan and obeyed.