Chapter 15 #2
But deeper than fear, stronger than memory, her submission held her steady.
This wasn’t just about punishment or pain.
Crone had set it up perfectly. An invitation revolving around trust, about proving herself worthy of the gift he’d given.
Her heart might be too damaged to love, but her soul recognized its Master.
She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders.
I’m ready to accept whatever is going to happen. I will not fail him again. She had disappointed him once today in her jealous rage. She would not compound that failure by running from his justice.
The switch whispered through the air as he tested its flexibility.
Sienna closed her eyes, surrendering to whatever he deemed necessary.
She might not be able to give him love, but she was ready to offer him this—her absolute trust, complete submission, and unwavering faith in his protection.
For now, that was all her lost soul had to give.
Crone
Glamping camp site, Sapphire Mountains, Rawhide Ranch
The switch was perfect—green, supple, still damp with sap—picked from a willow at the edge of the clearing. Crone tested its balance, letting the thin branch whisper through the air like a promise. Sienna flinched at the sound, her shoulders hitching toward her ears before she caught herself.
Good. She’s learning.
“Relax, Sienna.” He kept his voice low and rough with restraint but stern as he offered immediate correction.
“Don’t tense when you hear the sound. Lean into it.
Fighting the stroke will only make it bite deeper.
” He watched as she consciously unclenched her jaw, rolled her shoulders back although her fingers remained white-knuckled around the bark of the tree.
“That’s my good girl. Stay present with me.
Eyes on me, always. This isn’t about the past. This is us. ”
The first strike hissed through the air before snapping across the fullest part of her ass—a clean, crimson line blooming instantly against her pale skin.
She jerked, a sharp wheeze tearing from her throat as her body instinctively tried to twist away.
Crone didn’t move, allowing her to feel the sting, the heat, and the force of what she’d earned.
“Breathe,” he commanded, and she obeyed, her exhale shaky but controlled. Only then did he deliver the next.
The switching was merciless in its precision—each stroke was measured, and placement intentional. He didn’t rush or lose himself in the rhythm. This was discipline, not cruelty, and he would not let her mistake one for the other.
The second strike landed just below the first, parallel, perfectly aligned. Her whimper was higher this time, her knees turned to the inside, pressing her thighs together as if she could contain the pain. He waited for the fire to spread before he spoke again.
“Why are you being punished, Sienna?”
A third stroke landed across the backs of her thighs, where the skin was thinner and more sensitive.
“Fuuuck!” she screamed as her knees buckled. With a moan she forced them back into position.
“I—I disrespected you!” Her voice was thick with tears, but she didn’t look away. Good girl. “I interrupted a therapy session.”
“And?” The switch whipped again, this time diagonally across her back, the tip licking the side of her breast. She screamed, her fingers clawing at the tree, her body arching as if she could escape the pain.
“I—I questioned your integrity!” The words tumbled out between sobs. “Your commitment to our exclusivity!”
Crone circled her, admiring the lattice of welts rising on her skin—art, really, the way they crisscrossed her flesh. Her breasts were next, the switch kissing the undersides, the sensitive curves where pain would bloom brightest. Each strike drew a fresh moan as her pleas grew more desperate.
“Please—please—I’m sorry! I was wrong, so wrong!” Her tears streamed over her cheeks as her chest heaved with every desperate breath she drew. “I promise, Master Crone, I’ll never disrespect or doubt you again!”
He dropped the switch and it landed with a soft thud on the forest floor. In one fluid motion, he gathered her hair in his fist, tilting her face to meet his gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, and her lips parted as she struggled for air. Beautiful.
“Look at you,” he murmured as he brushed away her tears. “Taking your punishment so well. So brave.” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “But more than that… you stayed.”
A tremulous smile curved her lips as she replied in a softly broken voice, “Of course I stayed, Master Crone. I trust you.” Her fingers twitched, as if she wanted to reach for him. “It hurts like the bejesus, but I know you’ll never intentionally harm me.”
Her words hung in the air like smoke—thick and impossible to ignore.
He exhaled slowly as he moved his hand to circle her throat, squeezing in a gentle claiming that was as much a reminder as a silent promise.
She didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, she leaned into it, her pulse fluttering wildly against his palm.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the path of her tears. “And I trust you to learn from this.” His voice was rough, affected in a way he rarely allowed. “Now. Let’s get some ointment on those welts.”
Once he covered every streak with the special Rawhide Ranch gel, he placed a gentle kiss on her nose.
“My precious kitten.” She beamed at his words. He gathered her gently into his arms, carrying her to a plush sun chair on the deck. “Now it’s time for your penance, Sienna. You misbehaved and I corrected that indiscretion. Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m not sure what…” She caught herself at his raised eyebrow. “A... a blowjob? Would that serve as my atonement, Master Crone?”
“For disrespecting me in full view of our boss? Hardly... but a throat fuck might do the trick.”
He watched the color drain from her face.
His jaw clenched at her reaction. Though Sienna had steadfastly refused to name the man who had destroyed her, Crone had many contacts and it hadn't taken him long to uncover Stan Hunter’s identity.
The BDSM community was tight-knit, and memories were long, especially regarding those who abused the lifestyle’s sacred code.
A few careful inquiries had yielded Hunter’s name, followed by an outpouring of horror stories about his psychotic needs.
The bastard’s name burned like acid in Crone’s mind.
Each whispered account of Hunter’s systematic destruction of his fiancée had fed a cold rage in Crone’s gut.
He wasn’t a Dominant. No, in Crone’s eyes he was a coward and the only way he could wield power was through calculated psychological torture.
The way the motherfucker had used sacred acts of submission as weapons to break Sienna’s spirit that had led to the death of her child kept the desire for vengeance burning inside him.
This very act—throat fucking—had been one of Hunter’s favorite tools of public degradation.
Crone’s fingers gentled on Sienna’s skin, even as he silently renewed his vow to make Hunter pay. But for now, his focus was on helping Sienna reclaim what had been stolen. Bit by bit he would help her regain her power as a submissive, to trust in herself, and believe in her own sexuality.
“It’s your atonement, little one,” he murmured, infusing each word with reassurance. “But this isn’t about breaking you. You will be the driver the entire time. Remember that, Sienna. You’re the one in control. If you need my assistance, just ask, but you hold the power... all of it.”
Sienna’s breath hitched as she processed his words.
Her fingers trembled where they rested against his thighs.
His chest tightened at the vulnerability in her eyes shining with a raw and unguarded intensity.
This was the trust he had fought so hard to earn.
This was the woman who had accepted him, scars and all, to walk beside her in the dark.
“You hold the power,” he repeated, softer now, the words a vow on their own.
She swallowed hard, then shifted onto her knees between his spread legs.
The sight of her there—submissive, willing, his—sent a jolt through him.
His cock had been half-hard since the first strike of the switch, but now it throbbed, aching with need.
He forced himself to stay still, to let her set the pace.
This wasn’t about his pleasure. Not yet.
Her fingers fumbled at his belt, then the button of his jeans. The rasp of the zipper was loud in the quiet of the deck. Crone bit back a moan at the first brush of her fingers against his shaft.
“Good girl,” he murmured, watching as she settled more firmly between his knees. Her eyes flicked with uncertainty as she looked up. “Go on. It’s your atonement. You decide the pace.”
She leaned in, blowing a warm breath against the head of his cock.
Then—slowly, tentatively—her tongue darted out, tracing the slit before pulling back.
Crone’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as his entire body coiled tight.
Fuck! He wanted to wrap his fingers in her hair, to guide her, to take and thrust hard—but he wouldn’t. Not until she asked him to.
She tried again with her lips parting to take him in.
Her movements were careful, almost reverent.
He hissed through his teeth and his hips twitched involuntarily as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him.
She pulled back with a soft, embarrassed sound.
Her cheeks flushed red as she caught his eyes.
“Master Crone…” Her voice was thick with uncertainty. “I—I don’t know if I can—”
“You’re doing beautifully.” His voice sounded guttural in the silence. “Just breathe through your nose, little one. Flatten your tongue and relax your throat.”
She nodded, trying again, but after a few shallow bobs of her head, she stilled with her eyes watering. The question in them was clear: Am I doing this wrong?
Crone exhaled slowly, forcing his muscles to unclench. He understood then. She had never been offered the initiative to please that bastard. He had taken… by force every time. She truly didn’t know the technique to give pleasure. “Do you need my help, love?”
“Please, Master Crone.” Relief flashed across her face.
He reached down, threading his fingers through her hair to cradle the back of her head. “Then take what you can,” he murmured, guiding her forward. “And I’ll meet you there.”
She opened for him, her lips stretching around his girth as he eased her down.
The first press of her throat against the head of his cock was heaven and hell—tight, wet, perfect—but he held himself back, letting her adjust. Her hands gripped his thighs with her nails digging in.
“Fuck,” he rasped as he gritted his teeth against the urge to thrust.
“That’s it, little one” he praised in a strained voice. “Just like that. Breathe for me.”
She did, her throat fluttering around him, and the sensation was almost too much. He groaned, his hips lifting slightly before he could stop himself. Sienna whimpered, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers tightened on his thighs, her eyes locking onto his—pleading.
Fuck.
“More?” he asked, though he already knew the answer before she nodded and her lips stretched obscenely around him.
Crone’s control fractured. He guided her deeper, his hand firm but gentle, still letting her set the pace even as he took what she offered.
Her throat constricted around him, her gag reflex kicking in, but she didn’t stop.
She wanted this. She trusted him. He forced himself to hold back, refusing to break that tenuous strain.
“Master Crone,” she gulped, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice wrecked. “Please. Take what you need. All of it.”
“Fuck, Sienna,” he groaned as her words shattered the last of his restraint.
His hand tightened in her hair, not forcing, but inviting, and she met him halfway, her mouth opening wider, her throat relaxing as he slid home.
A broken sound tore from his chest in a half groan, half prayer as she took him deeper.
Her eyes watered and tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. She stayed.
“Fuck, love,” he rasped, his hips rolling forward of their own accord. “Such a good girl. My good girl.”
She moaned around him, the vibration sending lightning down his spine. Her hands slid from his thighs to his hips, pulling him closer, urging him on. The sight of her—kneeling, a picture of lust and sin… his—was almost too much to bear.
He wanted to savor this, to draw it out, and to make it last. But the way she looked at him, the way she gave was too much. His balls drew up tight as his release coiled at the base of his spine.
“Sienna,” he warned in a guttural growl. “I’m going to—”
She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Please, my Master. Please, come for me.”
That was all it took. With a primal roar, he came, his cock pulsing as he spilled down her throat.
She swallowed around him, her hands gripping his hips, her eyes locked on to him the entire time.
She had never looked more beautiful, even with streaks of mascara mingling with tears and snot, she took his breath away because she gave him all.
The trust in her gaze—fuck, the love—nearly brought him to his knees.
When it was over, he pulled her up, cradling her against his chest. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks tear-streaked, but she was smiling—radiant.
“My perfect girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “My brave, beautiful sub.”
She nestled against him. She hesitated and said in a breathless whisper, “I… I love that you love me, Master Crone.”
It wasn’t the words he needed but that flash in her eyes had shown her soul already knew what her heart and mind still needed to realize.
For now, the words settled into his bones.
They were enough of an admission to make his heart soar.
This moment wasn’t just about physical pleasure it was about so much more.
Without Sienna realizing it, it represented a reclamation, a surrender, and a declaration of love all in one.
“I do love you, Sienna,” he whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”