She rested her head on his shoulder as he stroked her hair. She put her arms around his neck and he let her.
"I know that hurt, didn’t it?” he asked and she nodded. "I’m sorry. You’re doing so well though.”
"It hurts so much,” she said. "I didn’t know it could hurt that much.”
"You’re taking it like you were born for the crop. I wish I had a hundred men here to watch and see what a prize you are. I wouldn’t sell you to the highest bidder, not for all the money in the world.”
She needed to hear that. It was a balm to her soul. "Thank you, sir,” she said.
"Here,” he said. "This might help a little.”
He put the crop’s strap around his wrist again and slipped his hand between her legs. He stroked her labia and clitoris while she clung to his shoulders to steady herself.
"Isn’t that nice, love?” he asked.
She nodded against his shoulder, looking down to watch him touch her. She was hot between her legs, hot inside. When he stuck a finger up and into her, she gave a little cry of pleasure.
"That’s my girl.” He spoke to her like she was a child in need of soothing. So caring. So kind. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t simply the solace for her suffering, he was the cause of it. And she loved the suffering as much as the solace. What had he done to her?
"Can I come, sir?” She wanted to climax very badly. She could take more pain, if only she could come. Already his fingers were bringing her close. And his hands were so well-proportioned and muscular and lovely that she could rest her head on his shoulder and watch him touch her sex all night and all day.
"Can you come?” He chuckled lightly even as he wiggled his finger inside her. "What sort of question is that? No. Not yet. You know it’s not time yet, silly girl.”
"I’m sorry, sir.”
"It’s fine. It’s fine,” he said soothingly. "I know it’s hard, but you’re doing so well. I would hate for you to give up already.”
"I won’t give up.”
"That’s the spirit.” He grinned at her and tickled her inside to make her laugh. "Now I believe you’ve earned a treat. Haven’t you?”
"If you say I have.”
"And I say you have.” He stopped touching her, but that was for the best. She was almost ready to orgasm. If she did, she knew she’d be in terrible trouble. Even worse, she would have disappointed him, and she couldn’t live with herself if she disappointed him. Not that. Anything but that.
She slowly sank down to the floor, using his body—so solid and sturdy—to steady herself. Once on her knees, it was near torture not to unfasten the falls of his breeches and take his cock into her mouth and suck it. But that wasn’t what she was here for, even though he was stiff and straining so hard against the white fabric she saw it throbbing. She rested her head for a moment against his rock hard thigh and sighed with indescribable pleasure when Malcolm caressed her hair.
"My Mona,” he said. "My darling.”
She touched the side of his calf and stroked the leather of his boot from his ankle to his knee. It was smooth and supple and she couldn’t get enough of it. The two gold coin buttons glinted in the candlelight. First she kissed her fingertips and pressed the kiss to the buttons. Then she brought her lips down to the them and kissed them with her mouth. Malcolm shuddered. She felt it go through his body and into hers. She kissed his boots again, kissed the gold buttons, kissed the leg of the boot that was warm from the heat of his body. While she was on the floor on her hands and knees, Malcolm caressed her sex again with the tip of the crop. She spread her legs wider for him and arched her back, offering her cunt up to him.
He struck it with the crop.
She screamed in sudden agony even though she knew he would do it, even though she wanted him to do it.
"Count, love,” he said. "You know you have to count.”
"Forty-nine,” she said. She’d survived fifty-one strikes already and that last one was worse than all of them combined.
"We’re over halfway there,” he said as she rested her head against his thigh again. "You’ve made it so far and so well. Are you tired?”
She nodded and whispered, "Yes, sir.”
"I know you’re tired.” He reached down and lightly brushed her lips with his fingers, lightly teased her cheek with a lock of her own hair. That made her smile. "There’s my girl. So obedient. She’s even smiling.”
"Why do you do this?” she asked, so torn between loving the crop and hating it, loving him and hating him. "Why, sir?”
"I do it out of kindness, of course,” he said. "You understand that, don’t you?”
She thought of his kisses, his sweet words, and the caring way he touched her welts. He was a kind man. Who but a kind man would give her such affection, such tender concern with her pain?
"I understand, sir. You are very kind.” It made her smile to say it, not because it was a lie but because it was true. She understood it all now.
"Now only forty-eight more. Do you want to take them on the floor or would you like to stand again?”
A choice. How kind of him.
"The floor, please, sir.”
"If you like,” he said. "On your hands and knees. You’ll be more comfortable that way. Legs wide. There. Just lovely. I love to see you like this,” he said, standing behind her. She knew he was looking at her open and exposed holes. She wanted him to see them. She wanted him to see what he owned. "I’m so very glad I asked you to play this game with me.”
"It’s my pleasure, sir.”
"Oh, I know it is, but it’s so rare to find such an eager partner. In truth, my dear, you’re really doing me a favor.”
She looked up and he had his hands on his chest. So well-mannered. So refined. So civilized. The very portrait of a gentleman indeed.
He took the crop in hand and struck her under her ribcage so hard she went momentarily blind.
He was an angel of beauty and pain.
"Count, darling,” he said. "Otherwise I’ll forget my place and we’ll have to start all over. I hate losing my place, don’t you?”
He was the devil incarnate.
"Forty-eight,” she said through gritted teeth.
"That’s right. Almost there. Carry on. That’s my girl.”
Angel.
"Oh, that hurt my hand so I know it must have hurt you. I’m so sorry, my darling.”
Demon.
On and on it went. The hits followed by words of encouragement and affection followed by more hits. Mona grew dizzy. It was hard to keep count but unthinkable to lose count. What if he started over? What if he didn’t? Even as she counted, it seemed time had stopped. The clock stopped. The world stopped. They had always played this game and they always would. That was how it should be. Heaven and hell were in this room and they had one foot in each.
"Only ten left, sweetheart. You’re amazing, you know. Simply amazing at this.”
She counted the last few strikes and by the final five she’d curled into the fetal position on the hardwood floor. Two left. Just two.
"Darling?” Malcolm’s voice penetrated the fog of her suffering. "My angel girl?”
"Yes, sir?”