Chapter Forty-One
In which there is punishment. And it's not entirely unwelcome.
Ethan…
I’m a patient man.
I spent an acutely boring five week stretch chasing down a human trafficker in Mozambique.
Or, having to torture one stubborn bastard for three days before he gave up the name of the man who’d killed my cousin.
Then, there was the long wait to kill the eccentric Scandinavian millionaire who lived in an underground bunker and only came up for air every few weeks. An underground bunker in Greenland where the median temperature was twenty below zero.
I've developed enough patience in my thirty years to make the thirteen-hour flight back to Edinburgh was endurable. Getting Nate and Carmella settled in my guest rooms was a priority, of course. But when they were finally asleep, Sloan walked out into the living room, stopping when she found Patrick making himself comfortable on the couch.
“Are you two watching a soccer game or something?”
She looks so sweet and innocent, freshly showered in a pink sweater and jeans.
“No, Patrick is here in case Nate or Carmella wake up and need something,” I say, my palms itching, itching to make contact with her bare arse.
“Why would he need to be here if-”
“We have somewhere to be,” I interrupt her.
“Now?”
“Aye, wife,” I smile, “right now.” She's learned by now to not question me in front of my men, since the response is often embarrassing.
“Well, okay. Patrick, will you please call us if they wake up?”
“Yes ma’am,” he says.
“Patrick?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“Do you think you could stop calling me ma’am and maybe just call me Sloan?”
“I believe your husband would shoot me in the face, ma’am,” he says, still completely straight-faced.
“He wouldn’t-” she looks between me and Patrick, “You’d never shoot poor Patrick if he just-”
“Probably not, wife. But I can guarantee nothing.” Pulling her into the lift, I kiss her soundly.
“I see,” she says breathlessly. “Are we going somewhere a little more private?”
I think of everything waiting for her at my beach house and I can’t control my savage grin. “Oh aye, lovely. Very private.”
“This is your beach cottage?”
Sloan is staring up at my house on the beach in St. Andrews. It’s a three-story stone house, set eight hundred meters away from any other building on either side.
No one within screaming distance…
I fight back the desire to throw her over my shoulder and charge into the house, but it’s taking every shred of my self-control.
“Aye, come have a look.” Putting my hand on the small of her back, I lead her inside, showing her the living room with six sets of french doors opening out onto the beach. I show her the kitchen and attached greenhouse, I show her the master bedroom on the second floor with the enormous terrace, filled with pots of flowers and small trees and a spectacular view of the ocean.
Then I take her to the third floor.
“What’s up here? Oh.” She stops, turning in a circle, mouth open. “Oh.”
I’ve been waiting to show her this part of my life. I’d expected it to be an easing-in before she required discipline, but then my wife decided to take off by herself for a scenario involving a high likelihood of death.
I dinna know how many items here were familiar to her, Dario Toscano told me Sloan never actually worked on the third floor of Club Vice. Compared to some of the areas I’d seen there, this room is almost tame.
Almost.
The room is painted a dark grey, with an enormous black wooden bed holding multiple hooks and rings embedded in the frame. An armoire in one corner holds a treasure trove of toys and devices meant for pleasurable torment. A spanking bench is in one corner, a St. Andrew's cross is in another, along with several other items of furniture and I'm looking forward to introducing my wife to their purposes.
“There’s not a rule you’ve ever met that ya dinna want to break, is there, lass?”
She’s backing away from me as I pull off my belt, eyes wide. “It wasn’t that! I had to get to Nate before Gavin did, that’s all.”
“Did it not occur to ya to come to your husband? A man with multiple experts at his disposal, along with a jet and extensive firepower?” I loop the belt in half, cracking it against my thigh, watching her jump a little.
“I’m- I’m not used to trusting anyone,” she babbles, “I don’t ask for help, I-”
“I could have lost you!” I snap. “Ya put your life in jeopardy instead of asking the single most qualified man in Scotland to help ya? Your husband?”
“Well… I wasn’t thinking,” she deflates.
“Hmm,” I agree.
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s a rather weak response for the ten men and women who risked their lives to rescue ya, aye?” I’ve crowded her into the corner I want, where there’s a well-padded spanking bench. Never let it be said that I dinna want my wife to be comfortable.
“I just-” The back of her knees bump into the bench and I put my hands on her waist, whirling her around to face the bench and bend her over it. “Wait, Ethan!”
I’ve got my belt wrapped around her wrists in seconds securing them in front of her to a hook, stretching her body out into a long, beautiful line. “Not tonight.” I lean close, letting her feel my weight on her back. “Tonight, ya call me Sir. Every time ya forget, there will be another spanking.”
Her wide-eyed look of shock is very gratifying. “You’re going to spank me? I mean, like that?”
“Just like that.” Pulling out my switchblade, I flick it open, letting her hear the ‘click!’ before running the blade down her back, the fabric from her sweater and then her jeans parting and falling to the floor. Slapping the blade against one cheek, I enjoy her startled yelp before twisting it to cut off her knickers.
Kneeling behind her, I run my tongue along her center, groaning. She tastes like sin and perfection. Pulling out a spreader bar, I quickly latch it to the bench and buckle her ankles in.
“What are you-” She’s trying to look down to see what I did, but her restraints keep her perfectly still. “I don’t know about-”
“Ah, wife,” I say, running my hand along her heart-shaped arse, “ya dinna have a choice.”
The first strike is with my hand. I’ve always enjoyed the physical connection of my hand striking skin, the sting on my hand, watching their arse turn red, watching my sub writhe and groan.
“Ethan this is insane! Ow!”
“Five additional strikes for not addressing me as Sir.”
I brought my hand down on one arse cheek, then the other, enjoying the blooming red print. The next landed between her cheeks and she yelped. Two more slaps on her arse and her skin is warming up nicely. “Do ya believe it was a mistake to not ask your husband for help?”
My wife is stubborn, and based on the set of her jaw, this would continue for a while.
“Very well.” I walk over to the armoire that holds a wide selection of toys, taking down a leather paddle. “Then we’ll continue. Twenty more.” I bring down the paddle, making a very satisfying ‘thwap!’ on her silky skin. Working quickly, I pepper her arse, the back of her thighs. “We’re at fifteen, five to go. Anything to say?”
Her face is nearly as red as her arse, she’s got her lips clamped tight.
“Sixteen.” This one lands on the thin skin between her thighs, and her ankles strain, trying to close her legs. The spreader bar is doin’ its work. “Seventeen.” Another one between her thighs, dangerously close to her pussy. “Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.” The hardest slap of all is on the delicate crease between her cheeks and her thighs, an area filled with nerves and one that makes her scream in shock.
Her entire lower half is a satisfying mix of pink and red and she’s panting furiously. Sliding two fingers up the slim furrow of her cunt, I circle her clit, already swollen and needy. Putting the two fingers, glistening with her slick, in front of her face, I tsk disapprovingly.
“I canna say this is a punishment when you’re already wet and needy, ya bad girl.” Shoving my fingers in her mouth, “Lick them. Clean yourself off my fingers.” Her tongue laps at me, her lips sucking my fingers in.
Adjusting the spreader bar, I bring her legs further apart and shove a pillow under her hips. She’s bared fully, her wet cunt, her arse, her swelling lips all on display.
“How many more slaps do ya think it will take for ya to come?”
My hand comes down between her legs, slapping her pussy and clit harder than I have before.
“Ow, damnit! I mean, Sir, it’s been twenty, remember?” She’s breathing deeply, fists clenched in her bonds and though she’d hate me for pointing it out, she’s on her toes, her arse raised invitingly.
“Did ya know,” I whisper, biting her ear sharply, “that when I spank your pussy, it makes your lips swell? It makes it harder to force my cock inside ya. But you are very wet.” I show her the paddle with streaks of her essence glistening the leather. “I dinna feel like you’re truly sorry for running off, are ya?” I’m circling her clit again with my thumb, pressing down gently and watching her lashes flutter.
Another sharp slap against her cunt and she gasps. “I’m not sorry,” she says between gritted teeth.
“I dinna think so.” I slap her again, hard enough that her entire body lurches forward. She’s wet enough that her thighs are glistening, her sweet, swollen cunt so red. Sliding a finger inside her, I groan. “So tight. Slick, so sweet.” My thumb circles her clit and I add another finger inside her, then another, enjoying her gasp. I work her pussy until she’s moaning, trying to push back against my hand.
When I can feel those first flutters that tell me she’s close, I pull my hand away, enjoying her frustrated little growl. “Why would I allow a bad girl like yourself to come? Ya haven’t shown remorse for running off and putting yourself in danger.”
“I’m really sorry,” my sweet wife moans, “I’m sorry! I should have trusted you enough to talk to you first.”
“Aye,” another slap against her pussy. “Ya should have.” My fingers slide back in, my thumb pressing against her clit and it takes less time to bring her right to the edge. When I pull my hand away this time, she lets out a frustrated yowl.
“I’m sorry, Sir! It was a terrible idea! I’m sorry!” My poor girl is weeping with frustration.
“And will ya ever do something like that again?” One of my wet fingers is circling her back entrance.
“No! I won’t, Sir! I promise.”
“What do ya want your husband to do?”
No hesitation this time, no fighting her pride. “I want you to fuck me, please. I want your cock inside me, I-”
Pulling her lips apart with my fingers, I thrust my cock inside her, so tight and swollen I can only cram in a couple of inches. Sliding my hands to her hips, I pull her back harder, pushing inside her snug, soaking walls. Standing behind her, my dick working inside her pussy, I can see it all, her strained entrance, trying to fit me inside her. Her tight nipples rubbing against the bench, her glowing red arse.
“So fecking beautiful,” I growl, pushing harder. “Let me in, love. Open up.” Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I pull slowly out until the tip of my cock is resting inside her, then thrust hard, all the way to her core. I’m going to tear her if I’m not careful but I’m barely hanging onto my sanity.
“Do ya know what’s keeping your legs open so wide?” I bite her shoulder, still pounding inside her. “It’s a spreader bar. Do ya remember your list of things you’d try at the auction?”
“Oh god, you remember that?” she moans.
“Ah-ah. I only answer to Sir,” I growl, still thrusting. “And yes, baby, I remember every one of them. Corsets. Roleplay. Shibari bondage. Suspension.” I thrust viciously between each word, knowing she’s close, she’s so fecking close and so am I. “Now be a good girl and come.” Sliding my hand between us, I give her clit one last slap and she screams, she screams like her soul has left her body and clamps down on me tight. “That’s right, my good girl. Squeeze my cock. Milk me.”
Pulling her nipples, I give one last thrust, feeling my balls tighten up as I come inside her, flooding her, kissing thelittle bump on the back of her neck, the tracker under her skin as she comes with me again.